


To the train on the railroad of our memories

by moonfox281



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Death, Character Development, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Roller Coaster, F/M, M/M, Relationship Development, Unresolved Emotional Tension, bcause that's what I want, let the world burns, you'll all suffer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:14:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23578984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonfox281/pseuds/moonfox281
Summary: He an angel reincarnated in this world.It disappointed him, and so God decided to take him back.Jason didn’t know who wrote this. It didn’t sound like Bruce, neither did it sound like Alfred. But what could he know, afterall, Dick was always a special egg. Bruce would never let it be just “a good soldier” written on his stone.
Relationships: Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Comments: 37
Kudos: 192





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a prompt and a gift to the wonderful and talented artist [spaceboykenny](https://spaceboykenny.tumblr.com/)

“It’s a good night for a good crime.” 

The two thieves looked up from their places under the fire escape to see one Nightwing swinging both legs off the rusty fence. A white smile behind spread lips flashed by flying raven hair against the winds. He was as black as the rest of the alley, drowning in the dark, and emerged out like a flashing star. 

Once a Bat, always a Bat.

Dick finished his night easier than usual. He tied the thieves up, hit the hotline, dipped the location and returned the jewelry back to the store. He was just about to call it a night and head back home when a certain bike a few blocks away caught his attention.

“What do you know?” Dick grinned and swung toward the alley where the bike parked afront.

He dropped down a rooftop, and witnessed a scandal. 

There were seven bodies lying around on the ground. They bathed in their own blood, bowels up to the sky in cold puddles like drowned fishes. Dick was pretty sure none of them were alive anymore. Or maybe, with hope, the man hanging by the ball of a fist, drenched down the pavement like a stringless puppet while eating in each thunderous punch from an iron gloved hand, might hold out a thin string of a different fate.

Was it too late to get angry? Dick didn’t know anymore. Before his body could restart the system and react to the scene, the hits stopped, the man came crashing down the ground, and a red helmet slowly turned up to look at him.

There was blood stained on the front of the helmet, right over the eye, crimson over crimson. He didn’t need to say anything, he didn’t have to say anything. Dick jumped down on his own.

“What are you doing here?”

And he chose silence as an answer.

“You can’t do this in this part of the city.”

“Why? Because Midtown is yours?”

“Because clearly, killing is not in my book.” Dick touched his shoulder and got smacked off quite violently. “Who were they?”

“Rapists. Do you want the details?”

“No...”

He suddenly jerked on the front of the Nightwing suit, dragging Dick toward the body, finger pointing on each one of them. 

“This one raped his stepson, killed the boy and got away with it.”

Dick’s face paled.

“This one fucked up his wife, lived on her compensation, and got her abort twice.”

“This one sold drugs to kids.”

“This one with three sexual harassment charges and a website. Use that pretty head of yours and figure what he can do with that.”

“This one-”

“Enough!”

Dick bit his lips. He tasted the tanginess in the air, felt the fury tremble through the vice grip on his wrist. And he saw him, a grown man carried fire through his fists and tongue, burnt first.

The night was bright tonight, starless, cloudless, exposed. And Dick felt the heat in his air, sensed a distant jerk when he touched his arm, and when each inch of him rumbled after the growl nursed under the red helmet. 

“They won't hurt anyone...” 

The worst thing to say to a furry man, not to mention a dangerous furry man like Red Hood, was to tell him to calm down. If people worked that way, would we still be living? 

Dick swallowed, stepping closer, closer, until he felt Jason’s arm hung loosely by his hip. “...Not anymore.” 

Jason looked down on him. Oh how he had to look down to keep their gaze. Time moved. He grew. Dick aged. They all changed.

“Don’t be so kind to me, birdie.” Jason whispered. He popped open his helmet, and without his eyes, Dick saw the tiredness on his face. “That’s not what Daddy taught you.”

“I’m not Bruce.”

“No. You’re clearly not.”

Dick was lucky tonight. Jason steamed off his anger until it was only steaming coal. Dick had faced worse nights. Nights that he didn’t just have to deal with one angry Red Hood, but also one thick head Batman. 

He could have his time munching justice and non-lethal rules, Batman’s moral class and no killing rules, once he made sure he made it through the night without a fight. 

“Can I...” Dick looked around, didn’t know what to do now that Jason was finally calm to talk. “I don’t know, call the police?”

Jason snorted and clicked the helmet back shut. “Aren’t you the police?”

Right, he had to rub it in. 

“I’m off my shift. And Nightwing can’t call in for seven kills!” 

“Deal with it.” Jason turned on his feet, flicked the blood of his hand and walked away.

“No wait! You can’t leave.” 

“I can and I will.”

“You have to clean this up!”

“How the hell am I going to clean seven dead bodies? You clean it up!”

“I can deal with you killing...” With reasons, Dick muttered under his breath. “But I’m absolutely not dealing with your aftermath. You know who’s going to be poking around these bodies in public? Me. You know whom B’s going to go first when there’s a murderer in the city? Me. You know how cold the autopsy room is? You don’t. I do, because somebody keeps leaving dead people behind and I’m the one visiting the morgue three times a week.”

“Goldie, just shut up.” 

Jason took the helmet off this time and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Don’t test my patience.” 

“Or what?” Dick smirked. 

There was something distinguishing about a good Nightwing’s smirk, 50 percent charming, and 50 percent rest challenging. Like watching fire cracking, beautiful, lively, dangerous. And Jason wondered how many had given up and got burnt.

Jason was supposed to be the one fuming. But those lips knew how to work things around.

Soon, he found a new heat to get into, this time, it sure was ten times more pleasant. On the way of their stumble feet toward the bedroom, Dick lost his gauntlets, his mask, then his boots. Jason just lost his jacket to feel those long fingers dig lines down his skin. He was making sounds and his limbs were everywhere, and all of it was annoying. Jason hoisted him up, and chuckled at the shocking gasp in return. 

There was something that most people didn’t get the luck to know. Nightwing was surprisingly lighter than he looked. He was all legs and no belly, and Jason just loved the feel of how those thighs squeezed around his hips when he got him off the ground.

Was this he being too easy when just a moment ago, he was still feeling like snapping that thin neck to shut him up? He wasn’t being easy, no, he wasn’t. He was being distracted. And Nightwing, Dick Grayson, whoever he had his hands on tonight, was a damn fine distraction.

“You like that?” Dick chuckled when he peeled the tights off his legs. Sweat had made the suit stuck to his skin like a second layer. 

It was straight-up dirty, peeling off Dick’s suit with the man sprawling on his bed, among his sheets, grinning with blinking framed eyes. His skin was moon white, hair ink black, eyes holy blue. Jason saw heaven and hell in them.

“Like what you see?”

His lips flushed like morning roses. Though carved like an angel, the slit of his eyes and how those lips hooked up showing pearl teeth at Jason, made him a fallen one. 

Jason hated how he knew he was messing up with his control.

“Spread your legs.”

Dick pouted, “And you call yourself a gentleman.” But it was a Cheshire smile waiting behind. They had this thing. Not on and off, neither it was nurturing. They never intended to grow it in the first place.

Was it irresponsible? Was it unhealthy? Would it be a disaster and both of them see each other burning in the near tomorrow?

Jason didn’t care. He was a blown warehouse already. A lost man got nothing to lose. He just loved seeing Dick in frustration, and saw an empire fall apart.

* * *

“Leaving already?”

Dick curled in the blanket, smiled at him through the shadow of his messy hair cast by light pooled down from the open blinds. 

He was always less active early in the morning. Lazier, slower in moving. Jason knew this, because he had spent countless mornings getting up, getting change, leaving when catching glimpses of Dick’s sluggish routine.

Frightfully, even if Deathstroke broke through the door at this minute, he would drop his sword and choose to climb on that bed, unravel him.

And Dick perhaps knew this. Such a tease. 

“You’re up early today.”

“Only to enjoy your naked ass sneaking out.”

Jason threw the Nightwing top at his face. Dick laughed out loud, and that was the most spirited thing he did in the morning, a big merry laugh like a church bell hitting at holy hour.

Dick laid with his chin on his arm, blinking innocent eyes. And Jason unconsciously gulped. “Hey, if he asks, just… don’t say anything. I’ll break it through him. You just lay low for a while, ‘kay?”

“What? Doing janitor job now?”

Dick rolled his eyes. “Better than cleaning a bloody pulp. You and your oh so elegant speech. Where do all the Pride and Prejudice go when you talk?”

Jason gave the older man a middle finger and wrung his jacket on.

“What? No pancakes and coffee?”

“Go to hell.” Though Jason wasn’t sure if hell would be any worse than this reality. 

Jason hopped on the latest flight that night to a country half a globe away. He got a mission for the Outlaw, a deal to hit and a target to catch. And by a week later when they were celebrating in a local bar by the beach of a tropical island, he got a call from Bruce, the last person he ever wanted to ring his private line. 

“Busy, handsome?” A girl with a Hawaii floral shirt lowered down by his table, her breast half out, squeezed tight by a button that was threatening to fly off. She had the kind of smile on her glossed lips that told Jason what kind of thing would be happening next later in the night.

“Nothing, sweetheart.” 

He glanced at Roy and Kory, watched how they got all over each other, finally decided to leave his phone at the table and led the girl to his inn.

Two days later, when they were all packing up for the next destination, Bruce’s name lit up his phone again. This time not a call, but a text. 

**Dick’s gone. You missed the funeral.**

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

The day he visited Gotham Cemetery, it was a bright noon with the sun vertical to the fresh trimmed lawn. Wind breezed through the leaves feeding on trembling wings of baby robins in flight. Light mingled with shades of the wide old trees and short tombstones. Light bathed over his shoulder, the brown jacket in his hand still torn at a spot after the last mission, over his hair and the back of his neck, and left his face in a shadow.

It was a warm day of a blue sky. He watched how the golden light marked down each line on the cold stone. 

_ He was an angel reincarnated in this world.  _

_ It disappointed him, and so God decided to take him back. _

Jason didn’t know who wrote this. It didn’t sound like Bruce, neither did it sound like Alfred. But what could he know, afterall, Dick was always a special egg. Bruce would never let it be just “a good soldier” written on his stone. 

Dick was never just a soldier to Bruce. No matter how the man denied it, or how many fancy talk about them being all different and he loved them equally, Jason knew it, Tim knew it, Damian knew it. Everybody knew, Dick Grayson homed a special spot in Bruce. 

So maybe it was really Bruce that had written this. 

Jason sucked one last drag of his cigarette, and kneel down to smudge the butt over the letters on the stone. 

“You really are an attention whore, aren’t you.”

In the end, what being special did him good? He was in the ground now, just like Bruce’s parents. 

When he went down the Cave, Bruce was there, in his suit, cowl down, balling his eyes watching the screens. By his side, the tray of tea had gone cold. Alfred would be sad...if he hadn’t had something to get sorrow over already.

“So, I missed the big day.”

Bruce started typing and didn’t even tilt his head back. That was very much how talking to Batman always went like. Jason wondered how Dick dealt with this. Simply facing those cold shoulders made Jason itch to punch him.

“So how did he die?”

Straight words. Strong verb. Jason would like to see his shell crack a little. And boy, did it work.

Bruce twirled his chair back, glaring up at Jason from upon his entwined hands. The room could go cold just like this. His eyes hard-rimmed and fixed, clearer than crystal ice. They pinned on him, unmoving, non-blinking, so much as if they had rusted into place. 

Just like that, no matter how outgrown Jason had changed into, his memory was jerked back to the days where he could only view up the sky and saw his shoulders.

“Why are you here?”

He made a question sound not like a question. 

Jason shrugged and leaned on the steel handrail of the bridge to the Bat computer. “What else would I be here for? I’m here to figure out what happened to your lion of Judah.”

“You didn’t seem to be interested before.”

“Yeah, because apparently, you have to wait until the end of the funeral to text me. You of all people should it’d be the end of the fucking world if I ever pick up your call.”

Bruce fisted his hands and put them down the handle of his chair. For a man who just lost someone closest to a son, he looked better than Jason expected him to be.

“You seem mediocre to this.”

“I’m wearing a hood, what makes you think so?” Bruce didn’t have to reply to get the answer through him. “Alright, fine. It’s not like we were that close. I knew him for what, 3 months before I died? Last time I checked, he still hated my guts for poking a knife at the nerd’s throat.”

Bruce only grunted back.

“You’re sure he’s even dead for real? Not letting another kid crawl out of his own grave, are you?”

“Jason.” Bruce warned “If you’re only here to aggravate my loss, now really isn’t the time. Even if you two weren’t close, at least for this moment, be respectful, and leave it.”

He just got here, and he already got no reason to stay.

Jason was on a ride back to his apartment when he caught a call from Roy. He barely hit the kickstand down when a car bumped on the butt of his bike, following up was a curse word. This city never lost its charm.

“What is it?”

“Well, can’t I at least check on what’s so important that dragged you off from us?”

Jason washed a hand over his face and gave the woman exiting her car a middle finger. “Private business, okay? Keep the hotline down and wait ‘til I get back. You keep our princess accompany.”

“I can get a hang of that. Don’t take too long, we’ll miss you.”

Jason laughed when he heard Roy sing out the last words. His eyes caught the rusty old street name plate from afar. Home sweet home.

“Don’t worry about that, this should be quick.”

No matter where he went, he would never forget this place. And no matter how shitty it got through time, it would forever be his home. He found solace here, a piece of what he used to be, of who he was off the armor.

Jason just got through the door when his feet froze on their places. His body refused to move. He pulled out the gun strapped behind his back on instinct, and slowly made way into the apartment. 

There was only a handful of people knew of the existence of this place, and a few more knew he would be here today. Jason had expected that among the small number, it would be Batgirl curling up on his couch, waiting for his arrival. 

“Barbara.” Jason sighed and put his gun down. 

Barbara didn’t even bother to answer. Her head between her knees, arms around hugging the slim little body together. She was still in her suit, must have just gotten off some business. The bright gray mask laid on the dusty glass of Jason’s coffee table right in front of the couch. Her cape hung loose, blending in with the bright red of her hair streaming down on both shoulders, losing the mighty life and fierce they wore flying in the Gotham’s cold breezes of an artificial star sky. 

It was rare to see Batgirl like this. In fact, Jason had never seen her like this before.

“I heard you’re back.” She whispered. Jason had realized how the room had stilled in silence to the point her whispery broken voice sounded as vivid as by his ear. 

“Why are you here?”

Barbara glanced up just enough for Jason to see her red rimmed eyes. And when still wasn’t out of his shock, she unfolded her legs, sat up straight. 

She looked like shit. Straight shit. And she had always been a pretty woman. Jason had never seen her this pale before, her sideburns stuck on her cheek where the tears had almost dried. Her nose dry, skin patchy. She must have cried and rubbed it over too much. There were visible veins, blue and purple, crawling under the thin skin of her under eyes. 

Her puffy lips shook when a trembling breath came out, flesh bright red from how the way she kept grinding her teeth down on them. 

“I don’t have anywhere else to go.” She roughly wiped her eyes again with the back of her arm. This time, a sniff followed. “Tim and Steph have moved to San Francisco, said they need time. Damian’s angry at everyone. And Bruce… he’s not talking.”

“Yeah, I can figure that.”

She bit her lips again, which made Jason regret saying anything. 

Everything was awkward right from the beginning. He hadn’t expected her to come to him, after all, she wasn’t the closest for her from the first place. All his impression of her was how bittersweet she and Dick was to each other most of the time. He was her lover, her friends, her soulmate. And Jason guessed he could say the same to Dick. 

“You look...decent.”

Jason snorted. He walked over and dropped down next to her. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“I don’t know if it is.”

She looked worse closer. And it should be normal for her to look like this. But after seeing Bruce, seeing how put together he was, how he had got nothing but anger bubbling under his sleeves got Jason the impression that this wasn’t what it was. Grief. 

Listening to how Barbara sheepishly slipping back into her tears, how her shoulders shudder when each hiccup rose from her throat, got Jason awestruck. 

He didn’t even know why he was surprised. Or the thought that he was surprised now, simply caught him.

“He really left us, didn’t he?” Barbara’s voice got out all twisted and pitched. “That collosus hypocrisy condescending idiot. How could he do this to us, to me! After all the bullshit about safety, about how happy he is to have all of us in his life. About how he can’t standfacing us sacrifice ourselves. How could he do this? Jason, tell me. How could he leave us?”

“Babs...”

“I love him.”

Barbara swiped her head back to his side, and Jason saw how the rage got the good of her. 

Snot ran down from her nostrils. Her eyes gleamed under fog of mirrious tears. Jason washed how each drop pushed over each other, overflowed from her lids. The agony on her face surfaced and twisted just as the shape of her lips holding wide open when coming out were nothing but quivery wails.

“I love him.” She shouted, after what felt like something was anchoring back all the sounds of her voice. “I still love him. And I watched his casket go down, knowing he didn’t belong there.”

She broke apart, from bits of her cry, to how her body shrunk and slowly, heavily leaned down, down and down, until her chest almost touched the couch pad. 

“I ended everything, but I still love him. I still love him so much, it hurts and enrages me watching an old couple crossing the street, thinking how… how many decades have they spent together, all the bad times and good times, who taking the trash out, who didn't flush the toilet. And it provoked me, thinking how it could have been me and him.”

“Me and him… if I had a little more patience...if he hadn’t left us.”

She leaned on Jason know, fisting his jacket and hitting him. Strengthless frustrated punches that hurt him less than it hurt her. 

“I left him… Why did I even leave him!” 

Astonished, Jason let her tears soak through his shirt. He couldn’t even hold her, couldn’t even touch her back. 

When she finally tired out. It was no longer Batgirl tucking in his chest, it was no longer Barbara Gordon with her fiery hair. It was someone else, a wounded animal. 

“I left him… I left him, because I never thought he would leave us.”

* * *

He let Barbara sleep over that night. She was under no condition to be alone, and Jason didn’t intend to test her tolerance. 

She clearly missed patrol that night though. Strange enough, B didn’t rung neither her com nor the shared line for once. And when B let people skip patrol, either he was down with half a gallon of juice out of his system, or some really stinky shit was going on. 

Or okay, Jason admitted, Dick being dead was kind of a stinky shit. But Bruce couldn’t just leave Gotham unmonitored. He wasn’t capable of that… or so Jason believed he was.

After cleaning the bedroom up for her to lay, Jason stayed up the whole night typing reports and accounting the Outlaw’s latest contract payments. 

He didn’t know when he passed out, just knew by the time he woke up, it was already noon, Barbara had left, and there was a blanket over his shoulders. He planned to go over to Tim’s place, but then remembered Babs told something about him and Steph moving to San Francisco for the Titans for a time. So Jason booked a flight for tonight to Cambodia where Roy had informed the next destination for their ship. 

Jason hit the street to get some food since he still had stayed in for another meal or two. Plus, it would have been a shame to go around beating people in a helmet in this good weather. Gotham didn’t get many splendid days in a year. It was a joke of the town, people said even the sun had abandoned this place. 

Today was different though, the sun was big and the sky was clear. And he watched the sunset on the hill in a deserted park. At rush hour, light casted down through the leaves down on walking shadows in a perfect shade, not too red, not too yellow, just somewhere in between. And even when that leaving ball of fire was playing peek-a-boo behind pole shaped buildings and glinting glasses on the horizon, gracessly, tenderly, everything turned into an old canvas of life drawn by an artist, and exhibited just for them. 

It wasn’t the most beautiful sunset Jason had seen. He hadn’t lived long but he had been to places. Yet, he believed, it was the most beautiful sunset he had witnessed in Gotham, at least it was in a long time.

“Have you heard? Nightwing’s dead.”

Jason turned his head toward the voice. It was two girls walking dogs just passing by his chair.

“No shit. You’re reading crack shit rumors again?”

“What? You don’t believe me? My mom was at the square. She saw it broadcasted for 15 minutes before it got taken down.”

“Fuck it, how comes there’s nothing on the internet?”

“The internet is controlled. Privacy isn’t free in our country of freedom.”

The dogs saw something and so they quickly ran off. Jason sat on the chair, and he couldn’t take his eyes off them. 

He must have sat rooted to that chair, dumbfounded like an idiot for minutes, because time jumped on the screen of his phone when he pulled it out. He hit the numbers without thinking.

“This is Dick⎼”

“Dick, I forgot something at your⎼”

“⎼leave a message after the beep, because I know you’re special. Beep!”

The clock had started counting, yet, Jason ran out of word. 

When he got to Dick’s place, the old lady living down one stair gave him a little wave. She thought they were brothers, though they hardly resembled each other. She was too old to keep up with the newspapers, too old to care if the infamous Bruce Wayne had adopted a child and the very child was now living one floor above her. 

Dick’s door was locked when he got there, as expected. Jason thought about breaking in, but then thought secondly and knocked. He waited, and waited. 

After five minutes, he went out of patience and picked up a hairpin spotted on the floor, bent it, twisted into the lock, and got in.

Dick’s apartment still looked pretty much the same as the early morning Jason left it. The kettle was on the stove, just how Dick always left it. There was even a stack of untouched books laying on the coffee table, every title aligned in the same order the day Jason first saw them. Even his keys, jacket, badge and gun were left on the shoe cabinet.

The moment Jason walked in, he knew Dick wasn’t inside. 

Taking off his shoes, he went into the bedroom. The bed was unmade, clothes on the floor. Socks, pants, a dress shirt. Daily outfit. Jason got into the bathroom. He opened the medicine cabinet on top of the vanity, taking Dick’s toothpaste. 

Dick had been running out of toothpaste since the last day Jason was here, which was nine days ago. This much wouldn’t have lasted him for more than four days, so either Dick’s sense of hygiene had gone savage, or he hadn’t been home for a time.

Jason went back to the bedroom. He flopped down the bed, back hunched. There was a lot in his head, but at the same time, he couldn’t pinpoint what they were. 

He spotted Dick’s phone down the floor just between under the bed and the bedside table. It was here, right in the room, in this apartment, out of battery, and not with Dick. 

Jason didn’t think much and looked for the charger. He plucked it in, waited for the screen to light up and check through the call history. There was one from Damian’s, two from Babs’ about three days ago, and one from Jason’s, just twenty minutes ago. 

“Dickhead, what are you planning?”

Jason didn’t like the pins and needles jumping in his stomach right now. It was different from anxiety but somewhat carried all of its intense characters. He saw himself move around promptly, throwing Dick’s phone down the bed, opening his cabinets and looking through his electronic devices. Everything in the room gave him a profound sense that Dick could be coming back and walking through the doorway at any minute. 

Jason opened his wardrobe, pushing clothes aside. Not that he was looking for a snickering Dick hiding himself in this close space like a small child, he was just looking without a specific purpose, perhaps anything that could give him a clue.

And then he saw on the right rail where Dick usually kept all of his formal wears, there was one suit missing. 

Jason dropped down the bed so ungainly, the mattress puffed with an audible sound. He washed a hand over his face, mind running around.

Jason didn’t even manage to think things through when his phone chimed alive. It was Roy. 

We’ve got a deal. Big fish this time. Better get your ass on a plane this evening.

Jason made a dental click. He looked around Dick’s room. Half of him absurdly wanted Dick in his Nightwing suit to hang upside down outside the window filming him at the moment. But when Jason pulled the glass up, there was no sign of one stupid goofie capcrusader for Jason to punch.

He looked at Roy’s text again, cursed, grabbed his jacket and hit down to his bike. 

Darkness had covered most surfaces once Jason arrived at the cemetery. That was one thing about living next to the sea, it got dark quickly, and crime rose soon. 

With a shovel on his shoulder, Jason finished his last drag of cigarette before throwing the thing away. And he got into digging. 

The ground was usually dry around this time of the year, so it was a lot of muscle work. And of no sense digging a grave a single person work. And Jason hated how familiar this whole scene looked. The earthy scent of wet soil when he hit deep enough underground, attacked his nose with a lingering note of caries. That was the thing about cemetery ground, even for a fresh grave, the earth stunk of decay for carrying too much underneath already. It made death a firing concept that obliged people outside of the casket to admit reality. Perhaps for people inside the casket too. 

It wasn’t the first grave Jason dug, and he hated how this probably wouldn’t be the last. 

He had already got rid of his jacket when the shovel hit hard wood. Mahogany wood, classic Bruce Wayne. Shame.

Jason struck the shovel head down until the lid crack. Jason jumped the casket, sucked in a lungful of how the dirt smelt. It would be a lie if saying he wasn’t nervous. Jason felt each beat drumming against his rib cages flipping the casket open. 

He didn’t know what he expected, but it definitely wasn’t what inside.

“Well, what do you know.”

* * *

Batman was just getting off the Batmobile when he saw Jason leaning over his computer, waiting with arms crossed. He didn’t even bother to bat an eye, walking over and ripping the cowl off. It was what Dick nicknamed his Batass fashion of a “What do you want?”.

And Jason just hated it. He hated it to the core not of who this man usually was, but of how Dick could always see the good part out of everything he did. 

Bruce continued to ignore him. He went to the medical tray, took off his cape and put a gauge over a bloody cut on his arm. Jason was already too used to this silent game of his, so he pulled the rolling chair of the Batcomputer over, and kicked it running toward Bruce.

Bruce stopped it with his foot, took one look down the chair, and glared up at Jason with fire. 

His fire burnt like a frostbite. 

“What did you do.” 

Jason snorted. “That should be my line. What are you playing?”

“I’m not playing.”

Bruce picked the suit off the chair and brought it to a table aside. He kept it folded carefully, laying the thing down with a gentle hand before walking toward Jason with gravity in his feet. 

And that, that puny gesture happened in a slight moment, simply turned Jason’s stomach upside down. 

He came here for a confirmation, not to get more unsettled. 

“Enough with this game. Where is he?”

“Jason...”

“What? You’re gonna tell me he’s really dead?” Jason spat out a laugh. Oh he made sure he laughed loud enough to wake the bats up in the cave. “That’s just completely bullshit. Not your first effort but I’ve seen you put up better shit than this. Now where the fuck is he?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Of fucking course I don’t believe you! You? You of all people? Saying Dick is dead? Don’t make me laugh. Dick is not dead. You hear me? He is  _ not  _ dead! This is just one of your shitshow to get something done behind the curtain and I’m done being a whackhead to get walked around by the nose.”

There was just something about both Batman and Bruce that got into people’s heads and made rage an inviting option. No matter how much you told yourself to stay put, be calm, conceal no feel, that face came in, unswerving and detached from all human intensity, toping with the fact that that perfect composure was a blooming seed planted from the foundation of his absolute infallibility. His existence in plain sight alone was already enough to push one over their limit, forget reasons, and start shouting at top of the lungs.

Jason wasn’t even sure it was rage anymore. Rage wouldn’t make him this jumpy to see Bruce snap. 

But Bruce looked at him, and he was the furthest from angry, even further from calm. His brows sank down like added a thousand weight on that forehead. And Jason never knew his eyes color like this. 

“Come over here.” 

He didn’t grunt. The sound from his throat escaped unusually soft. 

He walked toward the Batcomputer and ran the system through voice command. Hesitantly, Jason followed.

There was a file popped up, and Bruce played it for him.

“What the fuck?”

It was a video. It was...Dick.

It was Nightwing to be exact. And it wasn’t just Nightwing. It was him in a full room, binded, bruised, bleeding. A woman behind him, dark hair, Wonder Woman alike, held him up by the hair. She caressed his face, finger edged toward his mask. Jason was only got an idea of what could possibly be next when she ripped the thing off his face. 

“What the fuck is this shit!”

The video stopped just about when it zoomed in to Dick’s face. And Jason could see him, every inch of him, purple and blue but even if he turned to dust, Jason would still recognize him. 

“You know what is behind him?” Bruce asked and didn’t wait for an answer. He wasn’t getting on anyway. “It’s a time bomb the size of a car. Later after this scene was cut, they strapped him to this bomb and connected his heartbeat to the clock. Each descending second of thousands of other lives, was a beat of his life.”

“You’re not telling me this shit.” Jason shook his head. No, he wasn’t hearing this shit, not for the second time. 

“There was nothing to bury in the first place.” 

“No.”

“Jason,” Bruce sighed. He sunked down the chair, and for the first time in what felt like eternity, he saw through his exhaustion. 

“The video you just saw, it wasn’t in a private line. It was on the network and broadcasted publicly. In the last five days, I’ve built and run an AI system to take down every single cut of it wandering in every single electronic device in this world.”

“And every time one is taken down, I'm forced to watch it again, every second of it.”

“Shut up.”

“Do you still think this is a game? There wasn’t just me, there were also Wonder Woman, Lex Luthor and Superman. Are you going to break into their houses and shove the suit they buried on Nightwing’s funeral too?”

“I said shut up… No, actually that’s a fucking brilliant idea. I’ll do exactly what you just said and knock on every fucking door until I can haul Dick back and throw him at your face.”

“Why is accepting this so hard to you?”

“Because it was sunny out there!” Jason shouted at top of his lungs. “It was beautiful today and so was yesterday, and the day before. And the world is not on fire, and you... you are sitting here, talking, doing your shit. You wouldn’t be like this looking like that if he died, if he, of all people, died.”

In the end, it was just his voice echoing around the cave, hitting so far it multiplied and ghosted back to his own ears. Jason knew shouting to Batman’s face was no different than showing him a bareback, but it didn’t matter anymore. 

How pitiful he was, getting moved just by a flash of sorrow over those cold blues. And how embarrassing it was, getting so fumed up that he was sensitive to even a slight movement of Bruce. He reached out like wanting to lay his hand on Jason’s shoulder, but retreated back when he flinched. 

Treating him like a wounded animal, Bruce always got a way to mess up his temper. Bruce, and him. 

“I thought you two weren’t close.”

“We aren’t.”

  
  


_ “Hey, wake up.” _

_ Dick rolled over on his stomach and smiled down with all teeth and eyes of two lines. And he saw through sleep haze how white rays danced on the tip ends of his hair, slanting down the flush on his cheeks of a good morning wake. Jason felt how warm his bare back was bathed by the beams, just down the curve where his hand gently came alive.  _

_ His lashes vibrated after a chiming snicker, more gray than black in the tan hue. He faced his back toward the open blinds of a bright window, knowing he was more radiant than the sun.  _

_ Jason touched his hair, felt the soft locked run through the cracks between his fingers. Too early, though this wasn’t so bad to start a day. _

_ “What is it?” _

_ “It’s pancake time.” _

_ “Okay, why me?” _

_ “Because I let you do me.” _

_ Jason couldn’t argue with his reason, and he didn’t want to. So he tilted up with a rumbling laugh escaping through his chord and a hand to keep Dick balanced on where he laid on top of him. Faintly, outside, there was birds chirping and the sound of glasses clacking over each other from early cargos of milk delivery. _

_ Dick smiled with his eyes, his nose, his cheeks, his everything. In the moment, he and the light was one, blinding. _

_ “Hey,” _

_ “Yeah?” _

_ “I love you.” _


	3. Chapter 3

**Then**

“Okay, on the scale of one to ten, how much do you think is the chance for one killer to get in a car with another killer by total accident?”

“If I answer would you fuck off?”

“Oi!”

“You want an answer? Tell, on the scale of one to ten, how much chance do you think me and the Joker would get in a cab together?”

Dick stopped on his feet. “Eh, ten?” Jason glared down at him. “I mean negative ten. But that’s not right. The Joker is a psycho, and you’re not a killer!”

Jason didn’t say anything, but he clipped the cigarette back on his mouth and showed Dick the gun inside his jacket. 

Dick immediately jumped up like a cat got its tail stepped on, and shoved himself close into Jason’s chest to tuck his jacket back. The top of his head nearly hit Jason’s chin, and Jason faintly smelt a tint of citrus on his hair. 

Dick smelt nice. He had always smelt nice. Sometimes, people questioned if it was his superpower to smell this nice even when sweating. 

“I can’t believe you go out with me with a gun!” Dick shouted under his breath while wiping his head left and right to see if anyone had seen the gun. He acted like he wasn’t one with a gun holster on his waist.

“I’m not going out with you. You literally jumped through the police car window chasing after me when one block away.”

“Hey, I was happy to see you. I thought the jeans look great on you today.”

Jason was literally one second away from punching his face. Screw it if Dick got a cover date with Vanity Fair or something. But somehow, Jason tempered it down. He still didn’t want Bruce knocking on his door in his Halloween leather suit asking why he touched his golden blue boy.

Dick was gearing up to ramble about some other shit when Jason finally came to the end of his patience. He stopped on his feet, and Dick who had been half running to keep up with his long legs, almost smashed his face on his back. 

“Look,” Jason washed a hand over his face. He took a glance on the street and didn’t see any police car. Dick balled his eyes blinking up at him like an eager dog for attention. He just had to make spitting straight fact harder than it must. 

“What we did that night, was a mistake.”

“You mean you forced vodka on me until I puked myself out in an alley and got smashed to a moldy brick wall with your tongue down my throat.”

Jason sucked in. “Can you…can you put it together like a decent adult and at least be embarrassed of what you just said?”

“What? You aren’t the first person trying to choke me with a muscular organ.”

“You’re so shameless, I’m surprised that I’m still surprised.”

Dick pouted. He had jumped over in front of Jason and now was giving him a full view of how absurdly acceptable a man in his mid-twenty could look with a toddler expression. He could probably get free drinks with those big, round, ridiculously blue eyes. 

“You told me I was hot.” Dick exclaimed with his arms crossed.

Heat bloomed on Jason’s ears. He remembered that, how could he not remember that.

“Am I still hot now?”

“Are you a child?”

“Am asking if I’m still hot now.” And he asked with a serious face this time. Jason would be a low grade liar if he said he wasn’t. There were simple things in this life that even the best con man couldn’t lie about, like how the sky was blue, the sun was hot, and how Dick Grayson was godly beautiful. 

As reluctant as he was, Jason wasn’t born blind. 

“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror?”

“Yeah? I know I have one nose, one mouth and two eyes, yippee doo.”

Yeah, one nose that was a little too straight, one mouth that was more feminine than of a pretty girl, and two eyes that were too unrealistically bright even when they missed the sun. Still, Jason hated how Dick made him admit it, how he made it like he was never at least proud to look at himself in the mirror. 

And boy, Jason wouldn’t ever forget about that night, how that same pretty face twisted and fell apart when Jason squeezed him against the wall and had one of those long legs up his shoulder. 

Actually, the simple thought of what had happened still turned him on immensely.

“Look,” Jason washed a hand over his face, trying to calm himself down. “We had a fling, okay? I made a goddamn mistake forcing you drunk, I admit that. What happened, happened. It’s about time we move on with our fucking lives, go on our fucking ways, and never recall this again, you’ve got that clear, right? It’s not like a goodie two shoes like you wanna be seen hanging out with a fucking psycho like me.”

“You’re neither a psycho nor a killer!” Dick even managed to look sincere when he said that. “I shoved a knife at Pretender’s neck  _ and  _ kicked you in the crotch. Not to mention, I was this fucking close to blow off Bruce’s brain… In fact, I’d still do it if he pisses me off good enough.” He stomped over, loomed over Dick just to show how different their bodies were. How time had changed. “So tell me, detective. What kind of criminal would you categorize me as?”

Dick looked up at him, and in that moment Jason realized, truly realized how much taller he had grown throughout the year. The one who used to look up, was him. Now, his shoulders casted shadow Dick’s face, blocking the sun from reflecting on those brilliant blue like blinking sapphires, and shed them in shadow. 

Those eyes. They were still as lovely from the way down, as they had been from the way up. Time might be the rot of a life, but it was only a fraction to Dick Grayson. His eyes. They were, by all means, breathtaking, even in this broad daylight, or under the dim neo sigh of a hidden alley.

When he swallowed, Jason couldn’t take his eyes off his neck, off the way his Adam apple bob. 

“What? Cat’s got your tongue?” Jason started, because if he didn’t, he would be caught staring. 

Maybe he was starring, there was nothing to be ashamed about starting at Dick Grayson. But then Jason’s body was suddenly pushed to concrete wall of a store they were standing by. And Dick, the bastard, was standing there, laughing so hard he doubled over.

“I knew you always have a way with trouble.” said the two blue boys while having Jason’s whole body up against the wall. 

They just made Dick laugh louder, until he was the attention of the whole street. What a clown. No wonder he was borned in a circus.

“It’s okay Chad, Terry. Just let him go, he’s my...brother.” 

“This punk? Yeah, try harder. Like Wayne needs another mess besides from you.”

This time, Dick didn’t have enough breath left for an explanation. Oh how Jason wanted to shove his face down the pavement and ruin all those perfect teeth. And guessing by the sudden change of expression on Dick’s face, maybe Jason’s rage was quite open and obvious.

Dick fixed his throat and scratched the back of his head, suddenly a bit jumpy on his own legs. 

“I… I mean it, guys. He’s an acquaintance. We were just… sorting things.”

Only half ass idiots would believe that sort of lie, but what did he know, the two officers actually let Jason go after topping the cake with an extra shove to the concrete surface. Lucky them, they just saved their own legs from being broken, and not a single soul would ever find Jason’s face in any police record. 

“Sorting things huh?”

Maybe all three of them were lucky bastards. Jason for not getting caught in their eyes, and the officers for getting out of this in one piece. They bumped over Dick’s shoulder when leaving. 

“Don’t get in trouble this time, McPretty.”

“Haha” Dick shooed them off with a tasteless laugh. He went over, hesitated to touch Jason. “Sorry about that, though you kinda deserve it.”

“I’m sorry, why are we still talking again?”

“See. You totally deserve it.”

Dick was going to get himself killed with that mouth someday. Jason hated how as cordial as the man showed, he was treating Jason no different than the criminals he provoked when night fell. And Jason hated that he was feeling equally frustrated as any of his victims.

Maybe he had hallucinated that night at the club, thinking for even a moment, Dick had looked lonely among the neon lights.

Looking at his stupid face now, Jason really thought maybe he was actually crazy that night.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“Escaping your existence.”

“You can’t escape my existence. I am the light!” 

Jason’s forehead actually twitched when he heard that. He should have fucking stayed in the bed if he knew walking out the door would be having a rambling one hundred and sevety five pound of dick Grayson at his tail. 

Jason was literally on edge of turning back and giving a black eye of his life when his eyes caught something in the alley. 

“Hey, asshole.”

“Yes?” 

“There’s a molester over there.”

“What?! Where!”

Dick promptly jerked his head after Jason’s pointing finger. No matter how you looked at it, that girl was clearly uncomfortable and rejecting. 

Dick pulled out his badge and hit Jason’s arm. “Wait for me here. It should be－Oh my God!”

Dick jumped over and shouted when Jason pulled out a gun and fired a silenced shot. He was too late though, the molester collapsed down the ground. Jason quickly put his gun away. 

“Police. Move out of the way!” 

Dick dashed over the street, barely missed a truck and hopped over a car to come by the bleeding man. Jason huffed, looked around. Two cameras.

He put his hands in the pocket, and left the scene.

* * *

That night, Jason was running a coding program on his laptop while making late night dinner when his doorbell rang. That bell hadn’t made a sound for over a decade. Jason didn’t expect it to change.

He came to the door with a gun, didn’t open it until whoever behind it went out of patience and broke the lock. 

Well, wasn’t Dick a fucking nightmare. He deemed to haunt Jason.

“You shot him!” was the first thing Dick threw at him the moment he stepped a foot in, as he already knew Jason was standing right behind the door.

Jason groaned, clicked the safety back and threw his gun all the way to the couch.

“How did you find me here?”

“Hello? I’m a detective for a living  _ and  _ have been in this business for nearly twenty years. Searching for you in this one city is not that difficult, now that I know you’re alive.”

“Well, you found me. Now get the fuck out.”

“Haha, no chance. You shot my molester. Look at me!” Dick pointed at his chest. He was covered in blood. Looked like someone was kept on the hop to not have time to at least change a shirt. 

“You shot him!” Dick repeated, again. 

“He lives. It wasn’t even a fatal shot.”

“He would have if I wasn’t there.”

“But you were, weren’t you.” Jason smirked, and the anger turned theatrical on Dick’s sculpted feature. 

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I dug myself out of my own grave, don’t talk to me about unbelievability.”

Jason said what he said before he could think it through, because that was what Dick Grayson did to people. Despite the time spent learning, practicing, mesmerizing each and every one of the man’s weak and strong points throughout these years to nurture his big comeback, all of that just went straight out the window the moment Dick walked in with the same handsome face of the first time Jason saw him behind Bruce’s shoulder. Those airy feet still walked as dancing among the stars. 

Jason hated how easily he still messed with his head, those days of a growing boy he had long left behind. And he just hated how those sad blue eyes still touched his heart, gently, delicately. 

It was too late for Dick unhear what he had heard, so Jason turned on his feet, escaped into the kitchen to hide from Dick’s enlightenment, and whatever came next.

The silence was alien. The Dick Grayson in his memories, and under his watch, was always a creature of noise. He couldn’t shut up for one second, neither could he tolerate the tension of surrounding silence. So to be stuck in this tight space, hearing wordless condolence with a pitiful face from a man like Dick, Jason was put off his feet. He was suddenly angry at everything.

“What?” He threw away the knife his hand just picked up. “You think resurrection is a fun fair? That death is just a haunted house that if you don’t like it you can just call mommy to take you out? My heart woke the fuck up in a fucking casket, Dickhead. I was fifteen, and I came back from my own death in a fucking casket, pitch black, under six feet ground, with a brain injury, a broken legs, a panic attack, and no air to breathe.”

When Dick didn’t say anything, Jason let the outrage swallow him. 

“You know how I got out? I punched through that box until my knuckles broke, crawled until my nails splintered, until all was dirt collapsing down my face. I can still feel it. The smell of deep soil, the taste of it, how I really thought I would have really died again before I made it to the surface. But I did make it. I dug myself out of my own grave like a fucking naked mole rat, and then that, that fucking moment, was when I really wished I better had fucking died midway.”

Words rushed out until his mouth went dry. He hadn’t noticed his body had moved on its own, had come over to where Dick’s feet rooted. And he hadn’t noticed how burning every inch of his skin felt, how close he had got into Dick’s personal space to see his own reflection mangled in those soulful blues. 

Jason retreated back just as fast as he lashed out. He was flaming just a second ago, and now he was startled in chills. 

Dick reached out. Jason jerked back. His words had put gravity down those lovely features. And he chose to see nothing beyond the pitiness.

Dick reached out again. This time, Jason slapped his hands away. 

“What are you doing?” He warned. He was scared, all of a sudden. Why would he be scared of those waiting hands? Dick had always been nothing but kind. Maybe, it was his kindness that scared Jason. 

“Knock it off!” He shouted when Dick inched closer. Closer. “I’ll punch you!” Closer. “Dick!”

Until their bodies met. And Jason’s brain stopped.

Dick wrapped his arms around him, couldn’t even cover all of his back, but oh he tried. 

Jason felt him, all of him. His body smaller than his, much smaller, warm of life. Jason could push him away, could throw him over his shoulder, could do so much with his strength. Yet, his hands hang lifeless by his sides, squeezed in Dick’s tight hold, only to slowly come alive in trembles. 

He was warm, soft. Jason hadn’t realized he had forgotten how another skin heat felt against his. All he knew, was how the floor stopped spinning all of the sudden, way before he could realize it had been him twirling around unbalanced. 

Their clothes shuffled against each other. They both lost time in this one person embrace. All had escaped Jason’s mind, except for the lingering note of Gotham’s night fog stained on Dick’s skin. His hair soft, silky locks tucked just under Jason’s chin, ghostly sweet of a ripe fruit still hung on a tree. 

Jason hadn’t expected the hug, but neither did he expect Dick to let go. He had just started getting used to his warmth against his body.

“I...” Dick stepped back, struggled with his words while looking up and down and away from Jason. “I didn’t know what else I could do.”

And before Jason could say anything, he jumped in an apology. “I’m sorry! Please don’t hit me.”

“What the...I’m not going to hit you, Dickhead. You think I’m some kind of hoodlum?” 

Technically, he was way worse than that. But that didn’t mean he was going to punch Dick in the face, not when Dick was looking up at him from the frame of his lashes like Jason was the one doing something wrong.

“I came here to yell at you because you shot the molester and you shot him right in front of me. You know I’m a detective right? I work for the force and I’m pretty sure it’s one hundred percent illegal to shoot a person like that and also, your gun isn’t licensed so, double illegal. But now I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore since technically, I can’t yell at you after that and-”

“Dick, just...stop.” Jason washed a hand over his face and gave the other out. “If you say one more word I’m actually gonna hit you.”

Dick pulled his lips thin and balled his eyes looking at Jason. And Jason...he was awestruck. He couldn’t put together how he had forgotten this. The exact reason why that night in the club, sober even after the third bottle, he had decided to pull Dick into that alley.

He didn’t hate Dick. He didn’t even have a reason to hate him. And that angered him, how Batman enraged him through all these years, and standing in front of his protege, his golden boy, the ceiling bar Jason could never hit back in the day he put on his shoes, should enrage him exactly the same. 

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t when those innocent eyes gazing up at him filled with hope and integrity. He couldn’t when in the last life, Jason had once looked at him with those same eyes.

Barely a sigh escaped him, Jason slidded his feet on the floor and leaned over the counter. His legs felt like giving out for no reason. And while Jason stood there trying to collect himself, Dick tipped back and front on the back of his feet like a child waiting for his parents’s lecture. 

Or so he thought.

“Nice Jane Austen mug.”

Jason couldn’t even have one second in peace. He didn’t even know why he had expected that much from Dick Grayson.

“My good opinion once lost is lost forever.” was voiced in a throaty tone and a British accent as Dick tried to mimic Colin Firth. Though he bit his tongue and shut up right the moment when his eyes met Jason's.

“You’re worse than a clown, you fucking know that?”

And despite everything, Jason still laughed like a drunk man. This was bad, he told himself. This was fucking ridiculous, he thought. But through a hand over his face he purposefully missed the way Dick squinted his eyes and smiled like summer light. 

Maybe he was light, radiant like the goddamn sun, and it was Jason who knew he could handle this ray of lustrous life.

“Hear this, if I give you that mug, would you leave me alone?”

* * *

**Now**

“Why did you do it?” 

Jason blew a lungful out and watched the smoke fade away in the air. The sky was spotless today, not even a hint of cloud floated among the blue. Not too sunny, but not too cold, a perfect weather for a family picnic, or to just lay down and embrace a special someone. And here they were, under the bird chirping sun, standing together, two strangers shared a family. 

Tim stood by his side. The boy didn’t even like the smell of smoking, just like someone else, but today, he stood by his side leaning on his bike throwing gaze ahead toward the open grave Jason had scrambled up the other night now filled close again by a construction truck. 

Jason waited after another drag for his answer. “I expected him to jump out and beat me.”

Tim huffed. “Yeah, right. That sounds exactly like him.” He looked down his shoes before he decided to go on. Just like that, Jason knew whatever he was going to say next, wouldn’t be something he wanted to hear.

“Did you get nervous doing that?”

Jason snorted, threw his cigarette away. “Aren’t you a charmer? You’re lucky to grow up without a black eye.”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that.”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t fucking have.”

“I just got curious.”

“That’s the problem isn’t it. You always want to stick your nose around.”

“Hey, I was just.... I just thought it might have pulled back some bad memories if you did something like this. I was just worried, okay? I’m sorry you had to go through what you’ve gone through, and I’m sorry if it happened again.”

“If you apologize one more time, I’ll throw you down that pit before they fill it. You don’t know shit. And I don’t need pity from someone who doesn’t know shit.”

Tim crossed his arms. “Now you’re just being rude.”

“I’m me. I’m hardly ever not rude.”

They stood until the grave was fully renewed. Construction workers left soon after that, and they both came by the lawn staring over the new stone of honoring Nightwing. 

Nightwing. 

If Dick died he would die being himself. He was Dick Grayson before he was Nightwing. And if he really died, Bruce wouldn’t have let anybody touch his grave. 

“He’s not dead.”

Tim turned his head and looked at him. 

“Of all people, you should know that.” 

That was the only reason why Jason hauled his ass out of his parents’ witness protection hideaway, drove him here and made him stare at Dick’s unraveled grave. If anyone, Tim would be the one who reacted most passively to a Bat’s death. 

Nevertheless to say, Jason was notably disappointed. 

“It’s all flimsy. Plus, we have witnesses. Bruce...witnessed it.”

“Yeah, bullshit.” 

Jason rounded back to his motor and popped the trunk opened. “Let’s start with his work. Before this halfass catastrophe happens, he was working on an investigation of a heresy.” He threw the spare helmet at Tim. “Hop on, the files are still at my place.”

“Hold on, you worked with Dick?”

“Unlike most of you wallflowers, I work outside of this city, a lot. A cult wouldn’t just happen to work around eight hundred and fifty square feet, would it? I had this acquaintance, well, let’s say ex acquaintance, who made a link to the case. Dick didn’t have anything else on his table around that time, so you’ll pretty much find everything to start off at my place.”

“Wait, we’re starting now?”

“You’re going or not?”

Jason didn’t let people in his home a lot, not even people in his personal tight circle. Not that they needed an invitation in the first place. Working this type of job, having this type of life, meant getting a hang of both harmless or unfriendly visits at questionable time while putting a high enough wall around just so not anyone could climb up and in.

Tim looked around like a child first time walking into a toy store. Jason had nothing to hide, but he hated how observant those eyes swiped around his personal corners. The boy was looking too much, and because he was so busy looking, the air hung around them preserved into silence. And in silence, tension hung a collar on his neck, tightening inches over seconds. 

“What? Cat’s got your tongue?”

And it was only the air that answered him. Tim spared his look over him for one solid second, blinked, and moved into the kitchen on his own, exploring. As if Jason’s words had never escaped his lungs. All of a sudden, he was jumpy right in his home. 

“You want anything before I export everything in a drive?” 

No reply. 

“I’m not savage, you know.”

Tim still didn’t answer, and that was the drop that spilled the glass. Jason’s temper flipped. He threw down the stacks of paper files he literally just got his hands on and stomped over into the kitchen to see Tim nudging his head into his cabinet. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you deaf or you’re just trynna fucking piss me off?”

Tim jumped up and shuttered. “Coffee, please. Thank you.”

So he did hear Jason talking. That set some fire in him. He opened his mouth to talk back, but then bit his tongue. 

Was he angry? He was fucking furious. But Tim was here, and he could be useful, helpful. Jason didn’t need to give him a reason to back out from something he clearly didn’t hold much heat for right from the beginning.

So he washed a hand over his face, and sighed. “Just get out and wait.”

“Okay...oh, you have a Jane Austen mug here.”

“Hey hey don’t touch tha-”

Maybe it was Jason who shouted too loud and startled Tim, or maybe it was simply him rushing over and bumped on the boy’s hand. Either way, when the mug slid off Tim’s hand and the ceramic shattered down the floor into pieces, it wasn’t the kind of noise Jason had been longing to fill his space. 

It was the sound started to pause time into one muted caption. He looked down the floor, pieces of white ceramic scattered along with his thoughts, left cold on the floor, and what was left was only the echo of the crisp crash haunted on the four walls.

“Oops...” Tim hissed and slowly looked up at him. “I’m sorry.”

Jason squinted his eyes close, breathed. He wasn’t even angry anymore. His passion had shattered after the mug.

“This is why I never let you in my house. Just go wait on the couch.”

Since Tim was the one at fault, he didn’t put much of an argument and skipped right out. But when he made it halfway, his feet stopped, his lips pulled, and he took his time chewing the words out.

“Has Babs been here lately?”

Jason sighed and squatted down to clean the floor. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Wellshit Sherlock. Should I even ask how you know that?”

“I didn’t tag her.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah but you were totally thinking about that. I saw lipstick stain on the mug.” 

Jason’s hands stopped. He didn’t need to turn back to know Tim was looking at him. 

“I was with Steph so it must have been Babs.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry about the mug.”

“It’s just a mug, go wait outside.”

But clearly, his words were nothing more than air that flowed through one ear to another, because Tim stood planted down on his spot on the floor, swinging back and forth. 

Jason was too tired of trying for another conversation. He had lost the mood of talking anyway.

“You know, he used to...Dick used to-” Tim swallowed. “He used to have makeup on almost half the days in a week. America golden bachelor and all. Sometimes it would just be powder and highlight, but sometimes, sometimes it would be a full on painting. And he... he would always end up jumping out between photoshoots and studios back to his work or to the Manor without the time to clean it off.” 

The more Tim talked, the smaller his voice became. Jason squeezed his eyes shut, faced his back to him. He decided to finish cleaning and moved to the trashcan just so the crack in the boy’s voice didn’t linger in his mind.

“I just remembered that sometimes, just...sometimes, he would leave lipstick stain on the mug just like the girls too.”

“I know.”

“What?”

Jason let Tim’s question hang in thin air. His eyes stalled down the trash bin, down on fractions of his memories dripped down from each cutting edge of the crockery.

It was just a mug, he told himself, just as he had told Tim. There was no need to feel sensitive. So if he didn’t close his eyes, he wouldn’t see Dick leaning by the window frame, laughing at him with the sun at his back, tea in his hand.

It was just a mug.

“Jason?”

“Coming.” He sighed and got up.

His fingers in time grabbed on one broken piece, one still stained with faded red right at the brim, and put it in the pocket. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Now**

“I-I swear, I won’t do it again. Plea-please I-”

Jason clicked the trigger and wiped away the blood spattered on his helmet. He popped the front just enough so he could light a cigarette and stick it in his mouth. As he blew away the first smoke, his legs gave out.

Leaning over the garbage bin, the frowsy scent of the molds on the brick wall, the tang of blood in the air blent with the smell of piss, it all came crashing through his nostrils. Nobody said death was a beauty, and whoever idiot could say that had probably never seen life separate itself from a corpse before. 

So it be bliss for ignorance, he couldn’t pat his chess claiming these eyes which had seen too much were a gift of knowledge. What was the point of knowing. Knowing too much of this world would only cause you sleepless at night. 

When the blood spread over to his boots, Jason looked up. Another starry night. He sat here, exhausted after a boring night. Silence ate through him. 

He closed his eyes, waiting to be disrupted. 

Whoever he killed tonight, clearly didn’t deserve it. But lately, his patience had been running thin. Was he asking for attention? Possibly, guess even him could sense the form of the ghost named loneliness clinging somewhere on the wall, hovering after his slow steps. 

Home was surprisingly cold and foreign to come back, lately. Maybe it was a weather change, or maybe it was him getting all jumpy to get back to Kory and Roy, to get out of this city where he was born, where  _ he  _ hated. 

He never said it out, but Jason knew. The crowded streets with hasty people never looking back, the rugged old grey paving stones that always tripped him, the sky of clouds and no sun. He hated everything little thing of this place, of how people always looked for a fight, of how it smelt, of how it added darker tones to his picture of life. But he never said it, just like he had never said anything, to anyone.

He didn’t know how long he had stood there, but when the concept of time came back, his ears caught sounds of early trucks pulling over from somewhere nearby. 

And just like that, another night was over. 

* * *

“When are you coming back?”

Jason sat back, rubbed a hand over his face. He knew what look Roy and Kori were giving. The worried look. The dragged brows, the parted lips, these sentimental bastards couldn’t even handle a kicked puppy. And the worst thing was, they were Jason’s puppies. 

“You said you’d be back in three days, but it’s been a week. What happened?”

What happened? Everybody had been telling him Dick was dead. And the bastard himself was playing along the game well. Babs had been spending nights over more frequently. Batman had gone MIA from their constant fist fight. And Tim hadn’t made any contact from the last time they saw each other at his apartment. 

They lived in one city, but stayed worlds away from each other.

Or maybe Dick did die. Wouldn’t that be funny. Wouldn’t that be embarrassing for Jason. 

Wouln’t that be…

“Jason?”

Kory and Roy edged closer to the camera. Now they weren’t worried anymore, they looked scared.

“Nothing major. I'll try to get this done asap. You two just carry on like usual.”

“Are you sure? You don’t look too well.”

Did he? Well, He couldn’t say sleeping was a walk on cloud nine these days. Getting back to this city was getting to his head, and...everything else. 

He used to sleep through sirens and snore through thunderstorms on fire staircases of abandoned buildings. Growing up on the streets, your ears got that magic to work on when to sleep it off or when to wake the hell up. That system used to work like clockwork, perfection to details. Now? Guess he had gone out of practice, because he jerked up on everything little things happen in and out of his apartment. Somebody downstairs went home late and went a little extreme with the crappy door? He jumped off the bed with a wet shirt and a loaded pistol in his hands, safety off. 

Back then he didn’t have this issue. Back then he slept through a hole on his thigh with pain meds. Back then he got…

“You know what. You two take your time when I’m off the ship, because there won’t be much of it anymore when I get back.”

Jason shot a quick wave and slammed the laptop shut. Like he needed a reminder that he looked like shit. He could, even in the reflection on the dark screen. 

He should go clean up, both himself and the place, these days Babs could drop by any second, on any way through, the last thing he needed was her catching him being a slop.

Jason used to love cleaning his room, way back in the days of being Robin. He used to not have much stuff to clean. Just a couple of clothes in a bag, a screw, a crowbar, a thrown away bag he picked up near the garbage, and that was it. His street kid package was always that simple, quick to clean, easy to let go. But then Bruce appeared, and he gave Jason a room of his own, a soft bed and blanket to sleep, a closet full of clothes, new clothes, clean clothes, a table full of food, and a library full of books. He used to love cleaning up, it gave him a sense of ownership to all the little things he got to pick up, to put on a shelf, to tuck away under the mattress. 

He still liked tidying up, just not as much as the good old days. Guess old habits hardly died. 

These days, it was Roy and Kory who complained about how he always put their littered stuffs away, discarded weapons, day-worn clothes, how he folded their blankets into precise blocks, how he always wanted the kitchen counter empty, spotless, how he made them felt hard to breath sometimes with his minimalist demand.

And he remembered how he used to throw things along his way to bed, too exhausted to even peel his mask off behind hitting the mattress. And Jason had always let it go until he was healthy enough to listen to his nagging. 

And he would always laugh, and look apologetic, and thank him, just thank him, for putting up with his mess, and for caring enough to scold about things.

It was hard to stay angry all the time when with him. Not when he always knew how to appreciate. Not when he always knew what to say, how to smile.

“You’re always so stiff, even when alone.” Dick smiled and hid his chin in the clip of his knees. Those sapphire blues squinted gleefully behind the raven bang. 

“Why don’t you relax a little, littlewing?”

“Don’t call me littlewing.”

“Why? You’ve grown so big, but you’ll always be my littlewing.”

Jason picked up the fallen papers around the coffee table and put the dirty mug in the sink. It was hard to ignore the way Dick trailed behind his step, but he would pretend it was easy.

“Still very much an ideal military soldier, huh?”

“Quit it.”

“Why? Where did you even learn to fold your clothes like that?”

Ignore him. Just, ignore him.

“You always like to be the one making the bed. That’s why I always purposefully wake up late, just so you can work on your hobby.”

“Oh yeah? You purposefully wake up late? Should I thank you for that?”

“Aw, no need, littlewing. You know I always want the best for you.”

Jason threw the kitchen rag at him, just because he knew Dick would catch it with a laugh. And he did, because that was his superpower, saying the right things, smiling at the right times.

“You know, sometimes, I want to punch your stupid mouth.”

Dick laughed even harder, licked his lips. “Then punch me, with your lips.” He winked.

If his face wasn’t so pretty, that line would have actually earned him a hole in the face.

“I’m intimidated by that idea.”

“Oh admit it,” Dick walked over, wrapped his arms around his neck. “It’s a very intimidating idea.”

“Very.”

They could kiss, just like this, with Jason craning his neck, and Dick off his heels. He could feel how his hands had found Dick’s hips, thumbs on the curves of his hip bone. 

Guess old habits hardly died.

They had done this a thousand times, didn’t they. Kissing. Kissing to shut each other up. Kissing to break a fight, to feel alive. And sometimes, sometimes, just because they felt like it. Just because Dick said he, shirtless, standing by the stove waiting for the eggs, was the hottest sight, or just because Jason thought Dick’s fury flush face when Jason laughed his head off over him getting stuck in his Nightwing suit, was something kissable.

They could do it again, just like this. Then his doorbell rang, and Dick slipped off his hands like sands. Jason couldn’t have grabbed him, even if he had the time to.

When he went open the door, it was Babs. She had come over enough to learn how to walk in through the main door like a civilian.

“I bought groceries.”

She knew her way in. Straight into the living room, right for the kitchen, left for the fridge. And she knew her way inside his fridge in a couple of days, better than Dick ever could in his whole life.

“You’re uh… cleaning up?” 

Babs picked up the rag on the floor and set it on the counter. “I saw your washing machine is done.”

“That was quick. Okay, let me just...”

He got in the laundry room and closed the door. Sliding down the floor, his ass to the threshold. Through these poor walls and this weak wood, he could still hear the mewling of the floor against Babs’s feet. Creaking. Creaking.

So irritating. It was just this morning he was spraying cusses on the four walls with bloodshot eyes of sleepless hours fighting the serenity. What now? Creaking. Creaking.

His head ran round and round, twirling after Babs’ dance around the rooms. Dick never made sounds. His mouth might never run out of fuel, but his feet were feathers on Jason’s decades old weeviled floor. His steps had always been muted. Just like that, if not of soft lips pressing against his temple on busy mornings, Jason would never know when he was no longer around. 

Breath in. Out. In. Out.

Jason got up, turned off the machine, and got out.

* * *

It was another starry night. Three in the morning, about the end of patrol. Jason lit another cigarette, leaned over the wall, breathed. 

He was getting tired of this. If his patience was thin, Bruce’s must be thinner. He couldn’t stir water for long without waking Nessie up. And when Nessie was up, well, maybe that was what he was waiting for. Until shit hit the roof and Jason ended his ass in a slammer. 

Games, he could play. Playing alone was what he couldn’t.

Wiping the blood off his gloves, he wondered since when Gotham got good weather enough for starry skies. If all this shit showed was for a good astronomy, well, let just say it didn’t fucking worth it.

He hit the butt when a shadow dropped down the alley. Wasn’t the right shadow thought, this shadow he didn’t welcome.

“What do you want.”

“What do I want?” Damian crossed his arms. “Why don’t we work on your agenda of this massacre first?”

“It’s three bastards. Not St. Barthlomew’s day.”

“It’s been a bag every day since you came here. One for the good day, three to four for...well, days like today.”

“Wanna hit the bar on that count?” Jason waved his gun and crooked his brow. 

The kid clicked his tongue. The little “tt” sound Dick called adorable. Unfortunately, Jason and he didn’t see things the same way that much.

“Father is not pleased.”

Groundbreaker.

“But I shall let this go.”

Well, that wasn’t something Jason expected. “What? Rebellious phase? Puberty pushing your morals against Daddy dearest?”

“My mercy isn't one for you to exploit. Father has already got enough on his hands… Me too. So as unsightly as it is, we’ll let you grieve in your own way.”

“Ah, this fucking rant again.” Jason threw away the cigarette, snapped the lid back in place and continued with the mechanical voice. “Grieve. Grieve. Grieve. Grieve. That’s all you pig heads know these days, huh? Grieve over an empty grave. Guess who was reading the Bible the day I dug myself out? The crows. They flew in circles waiting to pick apart my walking rotten body. And here you are, mourning over a rock that got even his name wrong.”

Oh the look on the kid’s face. It was like hearing mommy was having an affair with the goodie neighbor just by next door. 

“You⎼ What dementia your brain has gone through? How in the sanity can you be jealous at this point...”

“Me? Jealous?” Jason doubled over, laughed so hard he had to plant both hands on the knees. “Oh your little delusional head. You think I’m nitpicking on the Bat’s favoritism? That the black sheep gets a little hot headed watching the gold lion running lost in his own fucking cage? Oh no, I’m just laughing at this fucking circus. Big bros is just playing it a little too hard and you actually bit the fucking trap like a rat.”

And there were those tiny little fists. Who could he punch with those, Elmo on Sesame Street?

“You’ve lost your talking privileges for today. I want no more of this madness!”

“What? The truth is too hard to handle? You think your “mommy in disguise” is actually dead? Why don’t you think maybe he ran away because he can’t put up with your shit anymore, huh? Maybe it’s you saying something wrong, think about it. You and that spoilt tongue, snobbish act of your. The guy raised you, spent all his time pulling you from Kill Bill to human civilization, and you can’t even name him decent once. Always saying he’s not good enough, always claiming over something he doesn’t even fucking want. Maybe it’s you that spilled the glass and pushed him to pop off the Earth.” 

Jason barely cut the word in time to dodge the sword swinging at his face. Did he say he didn’t deserve it? No, he clearly did deserve this. 

He had said all the shitiest things one could say to a fifteen years old, didn’t even matter if it was a fifteen years old assassin. And halfway through fucking up, he couldn’t even define if he was talking to the kid, or to himself.

He couldn’t lie. Jason wasn’t being himself anymore. So he let the kid pushed him down the ground, punched the eye of his helmet cracked, and jumped on him until he trembled in his own rage. And the only thing held Jason’s self defense mechanism from thriving alive was how the kid looked as if he might burst into tears any second.

That was fucked up, wasn’t it. Jason fucked up. 

Dick practically raised him, taught him how to talk, how to walk, how to sleep without a dagger under the pillow. A better parent than both Bruce and Talia could never be. And here Jason was, jabbing him right in front of the kid’s face…

Jason threw Damian off and shot the grapple gun, climbing on top of the building.

“Come right back here, you coward!”   
Didn’t matter whatever the kid called him behind his back, Jason dashed over a line of water tank, jumped between buildings to chase the shadow. 

It was the right shadow.

It was the shadow he had been killing for. 

It was him.

“I fucking knew it!” Jason shouted, threw away his jacket to speed on. 

He was lucky today, very lucky, normally, he could never catch him. Always a light feet. A robin in the sky, a cheetah on the ground.

Jason caught him after five blocks though. That was when he realized something was wrong. The guy was at least two blocks ahead of him, the true Nightwing would have vanished into thin air before Jason made it to the rooftop.

The air left Jason’s lungs, not from the exhaustion. It was disappointment.

“You’re not Nightwing.” said with gun pointed. Whoever idiot decided to dress up as Nightwing for a knock-off Halloween night, better give him a good reason to not blow another black pudding tonight.

“Turn over, right fucking now.”

Jason shot the ground just by his feet. He wouldn’t have been the Red Hood if he actually waited.

His copycat jumped, fell down the floor and rolled on his back, hands up. “Wait wait-” He shuttered. “Just wait! It’s not what you think it is.”

“Oh really? Tell me. What am I thinking?”

Silence. Well, not like Jason was expecting much. 

He took a closer look. The guy got the suit good, the right color, the right tight. It was his body that was wrong. He was roughly half a size over Dick’s. Taller. Thicker waist. Finner biceps. Martial art master at best, not an acrobat.

Jason was a fool to chase him this far. He should have recognized the moment he zoomed between buildings and the alley. Dick would have done it with grace, this guy made it look like he had a bad ankle.

“Get up.” Jason put his gun away. “I said fucking get up.”

The guy scrambled to his feet. Yeah, it was a dead wrong height. He came to about Jason’s ear. Dick’s head could barely even bump his chin. 

“Where did you get this suit?”

Silence, again. Now he was pissing Jason off.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“I had it tailored.”

“Now we’re talking. Name.”

He hesitated, but spoke in the end. “Josh.”

“Alright, Josh. It’s a bit early for Halloween, don’t you think? Having fun roaming the street in someone else’s skin?” 

“I wasn’t playing.”

“Huh? Is that so? So wh⎼”

Jason got kicked right in the stomach. He doubled down right in time to decrease the force. 

Bastard, just because Jason was having one of the worst nights of his life and lowered his gun and he thought he could have it his fucking way. 

His knock-off Nightwing bolted away the moment Jason was distracted by that kick. Jason was done playing games. The real Nightwing was a challenge, this downgrade version of Mirage though, it was a fucking humiliation.

He dashed over and grabbed on the guy’s neck just when he got to the edge of the building, wringing him back in shear strength. And this time when a kick glaze his cheek, he caught it, and jammed his elbow right down the knee. The satisfying crack hit the air followed by a beating scream. 

“Nice try, Josh. I’ll give you that.” 

He rolled over, groaning, panting. It was just a joint, it should heal nice if treated right.

“Now don’t try anything funny anymore. You’re not even worth a bullet, or a blade.”

“I was just trying to honor him!” Josh suddenly shouted. He rolled on his side, clutched his arm to his chest, but words cracked out from his lips through pants. “He saved my life, my friends once, pulled us out of fire in last minutes. They never say anything but my guys at the station knew enough, the cable told the truth. He’s not around anymore.”

Firefighter.

Jason stood back. He felt like laughing a little. These days… These fucking days…

“Batman is just a different kind of fear. He’s no different than the criminal he fights. Nightwing was what the people of this city wish for when they make mistakes. And now he… he’s gone. And you’re here, and this city is a hellhole all again.”

Jason stepped further back, until he hit the eaves and sat down. Josh curled by his feet, whimpering with his broken knee. The night was as silent as it was.

He reached for his pack, only to come to realize he had lost his jacket a few blocks away. In the middle of a curse, he realized this place, this exact spot they were in. Dick and he used to have countless fights up here. Screaming lungs out, throwing punches, lips crashing on each other under the starless sky. 

Life was a game, wasn’t it. And now, Jason didn’t feel like a player. He felt like a toy.

The stars were magnificent tonight, and here Jason was, alone with someone who wore his skin, his name, but could never become him.

If Dick was here. Would he be mad? Or would he be smiling, understanding, like how he always was. 

His children were missing him now, did he know? And Jason…

Did he know his existence was fading in Jason’s room? Did he know, it was hard, sleeping in a voiceless room, where the sound of his breath was no longer around?

Or was it Jason, who no longer meant enough to lure him out. Not after all the things he had said. Not after all the things he hadn’t said.

“Hey Josh,”

The man looked up at him. There was nothing in his eyes, the eyes that weren’t even blue when off the dominos. He was a fighter, but not for this fight. Those innocent eyes lack the burnt of notion spreading through fields, taking down dreams and credence in life, and on those ashes lived serenity, and the solace of a better world. 

He didn’t belong to this world. Jason knew had lost his way when his mouth moved without hesitation. 

“How about you keep the suit, and we make a deal?”

  
  


* * *

**Then**

When Jason woke up and found the other side of the bed empty, cold, he was disappointed in himself for being disappointed. 

He expected that part of him had died long ago. Foolishly longing. Foolishly letting him in. And it didn’t die. It didn’t. It slept under his skin, forgotten, and thrived when Dick’s lips touched his. 

Of all the big talks he threw out, he ended up biting off more than he could chew. 

Until Dick walked in. 

Jason didn’t even know how, or when he had walked in, but when his head left his hands, he was there, staring at him with the sun reflected in his eyes.

“I went out for breakfast. You okay?”

His voice soughed against the brews from the open window. His palm warmth on Jason’s naked knee. And he was here, not a sound made, not even on Jason’s decades old weeviled floor. But he knew he was here. He wasn’t dreaming anymore.

“You’re quiet.”

Maybe Jason shouldn’t have said that, because Dick could read through his mind. Because he answered by laughing so buoyantly, the sound painted over the four walls, leaked through each crack and hovered in their space. And all Jason could see, was how the sun gleamed through the two moon shaped slits that were his eyes

“Not so quiet now.” He said, and yearned over to press his lips on Jason’s nose. 

The touch was featherly, but it tattooed on Jason’s skin, and kept him remember.

From there on, it was always those feathery lips against his skin that reminded himof his existence, that in this room were them, before Dick walked out of his door and left Jason behind. 


	5. Chapter 5

**then**

Jason never got it how Dick could squeeze himself in this leotard he called a suit and run himself butt-tight across the whole city until the sun hit high. 

Or maybe Jason was just big. He felt like those 18th century ladies laboring to just breath in their own gear up for a night ball. He missed his jacket, his pouches, that little gap between his skin and the clothes because not everybody owned a macho confidence like a certain attention beggar to zoom across Gotham night in a knock-off Catwoman tights like this.

But here he was, pulling the damn suit just to simply bend down and wipe the blood on his boots. By this time, he was mildly convinced Dick must be made of liquid to be able to split and kick in this stupid thing.

“You’re not Nightwing.”

Cockroaches died hard. But by the layer of fat the thug had, Jason should have gone for a headshot. 

“Nightwing...doesn’t kill.”

Jason smirked. “A bit too late to realize that, huh?”

He pulled the thug’s head up and put a bullet right through his temple. Bang. The wall turned red. Jason got up and left the alley. 

He just made it to the rooftop when a force came whacking at his head so far, Jason twirled on his feet and crashed down on concrete in daze.

That was a shock. Jason was all ears and eyes and he didn’t fucking see that coming. There was only a handful of people who could do that to him, and boy, lucky him, it was just the one he wanted to see.

“Welcome back, bird brain. Good night so far?”

The usual Nightwing would never miss a chance for a good joke. No, the usual Dick Grayson would all jump for it like he was waiting all night for a good laugh. But he didn’t make a sound tonight.

The moon faced his back and lined up his bodyline like a painter. Those eyes, already covered under the dominos, now shielded further under the blind of bangs, colored like raven feathers… No, like the night sky. In foggy nights, droplets got caught in his hair, just like stars fell on the net of the night. 

He became the night.

He struck a knee on Jason’s chin, and let his silence do the knockout. Classic Grayson, wasn’t it. He had mastered the art of fighting all the way to point when action wasn’t necessary. 

And Jason hated it that he was losing. 

Fighting, to them, felt like dancing. Jason was surprised how they clicked into places. Up and down, back and forth. Dick knew exactly when to dodge when he came in, and Jason knew exactly when to fall back when Dick stepped up.

It was a duet of their own. 

Jason had always known Bruce must have got his very own reason to call him Robin. Robin, to a sophisticated man like Bruce, it could have never been simply a token of honoration to Dick’s mother. 

The old man must have seen how he moved, how he owned the sky as if coming to this life missing the wings just to fit in their small box of society. He must have been charmed by those rays of warmth gleaming in his smiles, his eyes.

He was a bird. Nimble in an absurd way, fluent like a river flow, soft and elegant against each strike of Jason, kindly taking in his ferocity like seeing it as a game. 

And this must be the reason why, no matter how much he wanted to hate him, no matter how his anger and vengeance built up for Bruce, so much it overflowed over this innocent man, Jason couldn’t stop admiring him, couldn’t stop seeing him as beautiful, as a sun born to save the last lights of this baneful city. 

Jason knew he was deemed to lose, way even before he hit the concrete with Dick on top of him. Because between two Nightwings, what a downgrade copycat like him got over the real deal. And he couldn’t do it with this man, he didn’t hate him, no matter how much he convinced himself he did. Dick was Dick. He came to war with kindness and grace. He was always deemed to win, even when he lost.

He did, didn’t he? Winning, when Jason couldn’t bear his silence anymore and broke the air.

“What’s stopping you?” He could hit Jason in the face, could be cruel, could be justice. But he chose to stay there, sitting over his chest, suffocating him with his silence.

Say something. Do something. Bring vigor to clarity.  Weren't you angry when I tainted your name? The suit you called hope for this baneful city?

Or was he tired? Of him, of his vengeance, nonsensical call for attention.

“Why did you do it?” Dick asked. 

Jason all but snort. “Nightwing went poofed for a little too long, don’t you think? The baddies must have missed you, I was simply doing you a favor.”

“Dressing as me and killing people?” Dick shouted. 

“I thought...” Dick choked. His breath cut in between the line, gasping against the wind that touched his raven hair. “I thought we’ve passed that state.”

“What state?”

“I trusted you! I never imagined...I never could imagine you would do something like this.”

Well, guess he overestimated their so-called arrangement. It wasn’t even a damn relationship, so what promise could they hold over each other. 

“One week, that was all I asked. One week.”

His voice shook a little. Just a little. Jason almost missed it. Dick got off his body, stepping back. Strange, how it felt heavier, getting the disappointed look behind the lenses rather than eating a punch in the eye.

Violence, he could handle. Violence was anger, was livid, passion on fire. Disappointment though, was the black smoke covering the sky when the light went off.

Jason admitted he messed shit up taking the Nightwing suit like this. But he was angry, so angry…

Dick sat on the cornice, looking down the street with his legs in the air. He wore the moon on his shoulder, blended in with the cityscape from where Jason laid. 

Like a cut scene from an old movie, Jason felt like he had seen this before. These thin shoulders cold against the lights and colors, hugging in the dark, wrapped in the singularity cursed by life.

Something about the dark silhouetted on Nightwing's face right now, was spot on familiar to the one on Dick Grayson’s face the night Jason found him at the bar.

For once, Jason actually felt guilty.

He got up. Twisting around did pop some little joints to prove that Dick had really gone easy on him. An enraged Nightwing could break Bane’s back and cry over it later. 

He came over, sat down reluctantly with a good enough distance. Predictable as he was, Dick scooted over even with his eyes avoiding Jason, until their suits touched.

This attention hoe.

“Don’t,” Dick breathed, lowering his head down on Jason’s shoulder. He froze, held his breath listening to the inaudible rhythm of the older man’s pulse. 

“Don’t ever do this again.”

Wasn’t like Jason wanted to. Guess he, himself, had overestimated their so-called arrangement.

“Who knows. I kinda like the tight.”

Dick hit him in the ribs with no force. But then he laughed, white teeth and dimple. And Jason saw nothing of the ghost of that loneliness he thought he had seen just a minute ago. 

“Over my dead body.”

* * *

**now**

Sirens came by the time Robin and Red Hood just finished looking through the scene. Two deaths, gun shot, 3 bullets each, triangle. 

They both left the scene before the cops finished ranging the area, changing their angle from the top of the building of the alley. Just like that, they watched the force do the rest of the job for them. 

“Identical?”

Damian remained silent, but he nodded, eventually. 

“Same description, huh?”

“They could have seen it wrong. The eyes are just as easy to trick as the mind, nonetheless in such a situation.”

“Cut the crap, it’s the third scene in two weeks. You’re gonna say every single witness we have got it all mumble jumble?”

“Nightwing is gone. Just because some drunken imbeciles who could barely get their feet on the ground said they saw a man in the suit, doesn’t make that insight definitive.”

“That was one time, this time we have a late night baker. You’re gonna tell me he’s high on baking powder too?”

Robin wrung his cape and turned on his heel. Somebody was sensitive tonight.

“Either an imposter or a fraud, we must put an end to this.”

Before his name was tainted. 

Jason popped the front of his hood, stuck a cigarette in between his lips, and watched the starry sky. 

* * *

**now**

“Hey!”

Jason shot awake. His hand found its way by the holster up his left hip. 

The coffee aroma wrung him back to reality. It doesn’t even smell like coffee, just somewhere unpleasantly between the absurd sweetness of blended in condiments, and the burnt off butter tainted over overcooked beans. 

If the revolting taste in the air wasn’t enough of a bust to kick started over his brain, the room sure did the job.

It was like countless other standard apartments in Gotham. Low ceiling, little window, thin walls with zero noise reduction, small dark doors and uncarpeted floor. Being Gothamites in blood, he grew up in just one of these shitty apartments, in a way shittier area. He remembered going to sleep in his childhood, in his mom’s arms, in nights of bad dream of monsters in the closet or under the bed, hearing her cooing voice of childhood lullaby, of early lessons that there was no monster under his bed, because all the monsters lived in the light, among us, around us. And she taught him, each night, over and over again, the darkness like in his closet, or under his bed where the little light from the little windows they had, might one day be his only refuge. Or like that one time he ran across the lobby, banging on each door screaming that his mom was unconscious and shaking in the bathroom, and there was none of the neighbors' dark doors open. It was just yesterday that they came, banging on their dark door, stomping on their uncarpeted floor, that they could hear mommy and daddy fighting, just right through the thin walls with zero noise reduction.

His mom was a lot of things, but she was right about monsters living out of the dark and in the light. Guess she had never expected her son to one day walk the light too.

“You okay there?”

Jason looked up, saw Victor’s face, and wondered how things led him here. 

When he didn’t answer, the man looked down the floor before dragging his clutches toward the other side of the table, and sat down.

Victor Cruise had been a soldier of GCFD for five years. A good part of his left arm was covered in small burnt. Pink scars and bruises littered over his skin, some noticeable up close, some were barely there to see. But sure, his newly broken leg, well, thank to Jason, nobody was going to notice anything else rather than the casted on his whole leg and the clutches. 

They sat there, agitated to find a common page.

Jason had lost his taste in talking. He even started wondering why the hell he was even here, doing this, being stuck in one space with a civilian, an innocent man, a warrior, a good heart, and here Jason was, fooling him around like playing a game.

“You’re younger than I imagined.”

Jason snorted. He touched his pouch for the pack, pulling out a stick. He stopped before sticking it into his mouth. “Do you mind?”

“No...no, go ahead.”

Jason lit the smoke up and put his lighter away. It was hard to miss the stare even behind the drags and grey smoke. 

He was smoking a hell lot lately, overlapping the headache with nicotine. Whatever, it wasn’t like cancer was somewhere on the table anywhere, not after the Pit. He was pretty damn sure by now he was probably a half-meta now, and the only reason Batman let a monster like him roamed his streets was because Jason wore the skin of his dead memories, gave some pretty good punches at his face when the cowl was on, and some certain bird promised to be at his beck and call to keep Jason’s ass around the ground. 

Victor looked around. He looked like he wanted to talk something, and the only reason Jason opened his mouth was because he still had some empathy left for the day.

“Spit it out.”

More floor gazing before the firefighter figured his courage. “Do you know him well?”

Yeah, Jason fucking knew who “him” was. That “him” and him only occasionally shared a bed, an apartment, working cases, body heat, and pleasure. 

Jason huffed, turned and sucked a drag. “We go around.”

More floor gazing, again. Jason went out of his patience. “Alright, let me make this short. Where are you out of that?” His chin threw at the cast.

“Tomorrow.”

Just as calculated.

Jason threw the smoke out of the window, unzipped his holster and put a gun on the table. “You know how to use this?”

Victor looked away. “I’m a firefighter, not a cop.”

“It’s Gotham.”

There was a stop, but he finally admitted. “I’ve only shot a M19 before.”

“Well, mine isn’t a revolver.”

He unloaded the gun and pushed it over the middle of the table. “This, is a Glock 26. Hold it.”

Victor hesitated a little bit, but he picked the thing up. “It’s heavier than a revolver.”

“Put your index around the trigger. Like that.”

“It’s a little small.”

“That’s right. Because this is no movie, you don’t shoot with one hand. Put both your hands on. Now, shoot at me.”

“You took the bullet out, right?”

“Do it.” Jason grunted. 

And the click of the trigger rung. Jason nodded. “Good. At this range, it’s impossible to miss. From now on, you keep that.”

“What is the meaning of this?”

Jason sat back. He barely fit over the chair, and wasn’t planning on falling off it with a sarcastic laugh.

“What? You think you wear the suit and you can suddenly become Nightwing? Fighting criminals in spandex and a pair of drumsticks? Wake the fuck up. If you wanna survive on the street when the light runs out, you take this with you. And use it.”

The gun went sliding back to Jason’s side of the table, like it had electrocuted Victor. 

“Nightwing doesn’t use guns!”

“And Nightwing is dead, isn’t he?”

The chair scratched the floor when Jason kicked himself off his seat. He walked around, desperate for air, to be able to breath. Blood boiled under his skin like running on aspirin.

The ground wheeled on his legs, the headache took over again. 

His tongue burnt from the words he had said earlier, words he wished he didn’t say, words he wished he could take back. 

Just for a few days, he told himself. Just until next week, and this shit show could finally be over. 

He only needed a week. Just one week. 

* * *

**now**

“Witnesses last reported our target round by Bunrley. Classic golden hours.”

“And before that, Vermont.”

“Uptown residence?”

Batgirl shook her head. “No, he’s following exactly Nightwing’s patrol route. South Uptown, then down on North Midtown. He should hit Central Heights by the mid of this week.”

“I say we split paths. Father wouldn’t be back until the end of this week. I shall not welcome his return with Nightwing’s name tainted.”

Jason huffed. “The only reason I’m here, is because he’s not here.”

“You-”

“Enough.” Babs fixed her voice and pointed at each point on the map. “We need someone to cover Uptown, for now.”

“I’ll take South Point. Every cut and corner there is in the back of my hand.”

“So Red Hood will take South Point, I’ll take Colgate Heights. Robin, you’ll be in charge of Central Heights. Each of us will patrol the rest of the area like normal, and take turns around Nightwing’s areas.”

“Shouldn’t we get Red Robin on this too?”

Babs shook her head. “No, leave him out. Let him steam. He’ll come back when he’s ready.”

Then what about you, Jason dared not to say.

It was just yesterday when Barbara was still free-loading at Jason’s place, in dire need of being with someone, just anyone, just so she wouldn’t be left alone with the ghost of him.

At the end of their meeting, he found Robin sitting alone at the desk, the map laid out in front of him. He had this posture of blood-assumblence to father, knuckles to face, one leg cross, brows frowned. Like father, like son. Or at least that was what Damian always tried to be.

Jason hated being the one who broke the ice, but Dick wasn’t around. Somebody got to do the job of communication.

“What’s up?”

The spud looked like he didn’t enjoy Jason’s accompaniment, but whatever kept his pants twisted was getting the better of him. He slid down and slumped in his seat, sitting like a child for once.

“Let’s just get this over quickly.”

Damian pushed off his seat, crunched the map in his hands and turned his heels on Jason. 

It didn’t need that little shake caped on his shoulder to understand the kid wasn’t on a steady emotional ground dealing with this situation. 

Jason sighed, got to his bike. 

He never liked being in the Cave. So as he zoomed off the tunnel and out until the wind slapped at his jacket, he synced the call in his helmet, gassed up back to the city. 

“Victor, change of plan. Don’t take the usual route.”

* * *

**then**

“Truth or dare?”

Jason flopped his cards down the table. “Now you pick? You lost.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t say who got to choose the punishment.”

“Why would the loser get to choose the punishment?”

“Because the winner already got enough glory from winning?”

Jason threw the cards at Dick, which earned him a big laugh back. “Come on!”

“Stop being a fucking child, Grayson.”

“You sound like Damian.”

“Now that’s a fucking insult.”

Speaking of that hellish spud, seemed like he was doing pretty well with  _ his  _ Grayson. Talia had lost her goodman mind, but it wasn’t something out of her character. 

“Now, truth or dare.”

“If this is one of you twisted fuck way to go heart to heart...”

“Minus the swearing, yes, this is my way. Come on, tell me about your glory days of resurrection. How did you end up knowing Damian even before Bruce? Or where did you learn that sick knife trick you pulled with Bruce’s wire. Tell me, anything.”

Jason didn’t say anything, but gave him a finger. 

Unlucky him, Dick’s intractability was bedrock. He was unyielding even when Jason faced his back to him.

“I want to know you, Jason.”

Jason scoffed. “Didn’t you get enough knowing, last night.”

Even though they had fallen into this path frequent enough to remember the routines, the foottracks and the unspoken rules, this was the first time he had ever used sex as a defesne mechanism against Dick. He didn’t fucking want to anyway, but fighting dirty was always the quickness way to the golden boy’s mind and fucked up his tempo.

“Knowledge is burden, birdbrain. Better keep it a blank space between us.”

“So it’s just wrong, trying to know you back?”

“You never know me. Wrong or right, I don’t give a shit. The version of me you commend in your mind is not my responsibility.”

“The version of you...” Dick pushed a breath out, loud enough it echo through the silence in their space. “I don’t think I ever actually got to know you even back then.”

If he had admitted it, Jason wouldn’t say anything. 

Dick in his early Nightwing’s years was the last train Jason’s Robin always tried to catch, but never quite made it. He always moved forward, never looking back to see him running after from behind. 

He never knew Jason. And a big part of the reason was he had never actually wanted to know him.

Well, not until now. And that was what ticked Jason off.

“You’re always so good about reading people, why don’t you figure me out yourself, psychiatrist McPretty?”

And when the surprise emerged on his well-defined features, eyes blinked innocently from the takening aback, Jason grinned like a habit. “Yeah, I did my homework. You and your little Princeton degree under Bruce’s nose, huh? Hudson dropout but that’s just damn good disguise for your blue boys groupie joinment and the little trip to New Jersey every twice a week, huh?”

“So you know my secret. Why don’t you tell me yours?”

“You’re observant. Observe me. Answer yourself.”

“That’s not particularly true. I-” Dick laid back on his chair, scoffed like the idea of this image of him in Jason’s mind was beyond his belief. “I’m not observant. People are just easy to read. We bleed emotions even in the way we drink our coffee. It’s just that no one seems to notice, since they’re all busy drinking their own coffee.”

“If that’s how it is then why don’t you read me now?”

Dick looked back at him. Something in his eyes told the answer before it became audible. 

“I want to hear it from you.”

Jason should have known. Just like he should have known better to let Dick walk inside his space again, should have known better to simply even talk to him again.

He came back a different man, with a different agenda, a vendetta. And here he was looking down their laid out cards of leftover poker games, just because earlier, not one ounce of him could measure out a refusal when Dick came at his door, with beers,  chili  dogs, and a smile that reached all the way to his sapphire eyes.

He was angry at himself for falling back to this path so easily, despite everything, despite dying, despite coming so close to killing Bruce and writing off his past. 

But here he was, struggling with the new hatred on how his body turned immobile by a simple gesture of kindness from this man, or how his vigor was impotent against the eyes looking at him now. And he hated, hated how his own reflection in those blues were so clean, clear, beautiful. 

So he should have known better, known better to walk over on his bare feet, to get close to Dick. To ever let those eyes look up at him in genuine surprise. Because when his lips moved on his, they remained surprised.

He should have known better...

* * *

**now**

“I can’t do it.”

Jason unstrapped his gloves, strapped them again. The fight had loosened them a little. 

He let Victor hyperventilate by the moldy wall. Sweat rolled down from his forehead. 

He had barely thrown a fist tonight, but probably got enough jumpscare for the rest of his life. 

The thug down the ground yearned forward, his gun in his hand. 

How many had that particular one fired before? Five, six? So there should be one left in the magazine.

Jason went over and kicked the gun Victor had let go to his hand. “Pick that up. You don’t want anyone on the other side to have it.”

The man trembled. Every inch of his skin jumped at the mere sight of the gun by his feet. 

“I can’t… I can’t do it.”

“Alright.” Jason turned on his heels and left, counting down in his head. 

“I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I can’t do it...” Victor chanted. He hugged his knees, sticking his forehead against the wall like a sinner on church’s steps. 

So when he heard the gunshot, the following yelped, it was clockwork with the countdown in his brain. 

Victor scrambled for the gun he had been so disgusted before, and made a blank shot. 

That blank shot was lucky enough to hit the thug. And for the thug, he was just lucky enough it landed on his shoulder. 

Then just as quickly as he had picked up the gun before, Victor through the weapon away like it had personally assaulted him. 

Did Jason preplay this scene in his head before? 

Yeah, he did, the moment he saw how Victor’s kick wasn’t strong enough to knock out the thug. Half unconscious, even a pro couldn’t make a shot straight. So yes, he had seen it all happened first before the scene actually played. How the thug would aim for an easier target than Jason. How he would miss. How that would frighten the chicken out of Victor and make him retaliate with the nearest weapon in arm reach. 

What happened was all human instinct, things anyone would have done, anyone, on either side of the situation.

_ People are just easy to read. _

Jason squeezed his eyes, breathed, counted again. 

Maybe if he focused enough, it wouldn’t be Victor’s face in the Nightwing suit anymore.

“You see this?”

Victor paled with sweat.

“This is a war from now on. And you’re a soldier. Wanna survive? Carry a fucking gun.”

He picked back up the Glock Victor had thrown away, squatted back down in front of his face. 

Funny, how people often describe fear through what met the eyes. To Jason, fear was what met the nose. 

Sweat, breath, blood, piss. Fear smelt like shit, just as how it should. 

Jason cocked the gun at the groaning thug. Without looking, he fired. 

The groaning stopped, and all Jason saw was how Victor froze. Under that mask no longer laid unyielding eyes.

His comm binged alive. The Bats were calling. 

Jason picked up, eyes down on Victor wheezing on the ground. “Gun fire down East Brooklyn. I’m two blocks away.”

“Be careful, I counted three before the latest.” Batgirl’s voice mixed in with the wind, hardly making out any word. She was heading here too.

Jason cut his link, squeezed his eyes again, looked up, and felt another night passed away.

“Come on, time to go.”

* * *

**then**

Dick liked to be the last one staying up. 

Be it the makeup sleep post patrol, or his natural sleep worm, he liked to linger in the bed as long as possible. 

“Have you realized how we flip the coin not to decide, but to recognize what we truly desire?”

“Grayson, it’s 6 in the goddamn-”

“We only realize what we truly want when facing the choices.”

It was 6 in the morning, after 5 hours of patrolling, but Jason let him ramble anyway.

Jason learnt new things about this same old person, day by day, month by month. From how he talked shit in the middle of the night like some overactive kid that couldn’t put their head to bed; like how he, turned out, made wonderful Spanish omelette, one of the little things he remembered left of his circus life.

Time passed. They never talked about that night at the club how they found each other. They never talked about how they planted the first seed of this  _ companion  _ with a kiss by the dumpster in an alley. 

They never shared about what they did together. They hardly brought Bruce in the picture of conversations. 

Dick passed by every two, three days a week. If Jason wasn’t home, he cracked through the window and left a note. But somehow, he could always tell when Jason was home. 

Jason never came by Dick’s place at first. It was the last defense he got, not holding any grudge against this man. But Dick would always leave things at his place, or take things off his place, things he knew would get Jason out of his lair and come to him.

Aside from that, he never made questions.

Despite all his effort of getting to know each other, Jason realized, Dick hardly ever made questions. 

He never asked how Jason came back to life. He never questioned why Jason came back wanting to kill them all. And despite him complaining how Jason had got so big, he never asked how. 

But he talked. Oh, he talked, a lot. And mindlessly, Jason allowed his “Do you know...”; “Have you ever wonder...”; “Do you realize...” to break the silence.

“You have a guitar. Do you know I used to play in my last three years at the Academy?”

Jason didn’t ask, neither did he answer, but that never stopped Dick from talking.

“If you hold your fingers a little bit up like this, now hit those below. That’s the D. Your first chord.”

That was how Dick taught him his first guitar lesson. He pulled the thing down from an old corner of the building Jason lived in, showed him all the basic chords. And Jason let him.

It was mindfully odd, how his pieces clicked into Jason’s life like they were meant to be. 

Jason never said anything out loud, never put commitment, momentum to any of their shared memories. But he knew himself, he knew he enjoyed Dick’s company more than he should, more than he wanted. 

Therefore, it shall forever be his secret, staying up early, getting dressed, making breakfast, and coming back standing by the bedroom door, watching sun-bathed Dick breath in his bed. Knowing the sheet would still smell like him until the end of the day.

* * *

**now**

“He’s playing games with us.”

“We just need to search fu-”

“I say he’s playing with us!”

The crash echoed louder than it actually sounded in the Cave. Damian kicked off the table broken legs, wiggling back and forth, left and right like his skin was too tight for his body.

“Enough.” Jason got in between the brat and Batgirl before the kid could say or do something stupid. 

“You stay out of this, Todd. You’ve been a completely impacable help. You failed each time it was your jurisdiction.”

“Hey, watch your fucking mouth. I was late, got it? I was just fucking late. Don’t let me drag in the fact that it’s you who fail each time our copycat shows up in your area.”

This time it was Babs who pushed them both off. “That’s because he doesn't follow Nightwing’s routine as we calculated.”

Damian clicked his tongue, wrung himself away from Babs’ touch and escaped up back to the Manor. 

“Bruce is going to be back in two days, and clearly, we’re taking this to nowhere. Maybe...” She sighed. Jason knew what she was proposing. “Maybe we should get Kate or Tim on this with us.”

“Kate is not gonna take this well, and so is Tim.”

“Well I can’t do this alone!”

If asked, Jason wouldn’t lie. He was surprised not just by the mere shy of Babs’ rage sipping out of her cowl and washed over him, but the tears that had wet her eyes yet refused to fall off when he ripped the mask down.

“You don’t give a damn, Jason. But he… He was my boyfriend.” Now she was crying. Officially crying. “I still love him. I still love him so so much. And Damian… Damian loves him too. We all love him, and this is taking everything of us to keep our memories of him clean.”

“Babs-”

“There’s a man running out there killing people in the suit that he sacrificed in!”

Had he thought about it? He had. He sure had, every night, every day, every time he walked into his kitchen and not see him there.

He did this knowing well what impact it would bring to these people. Still, he did it anyway.

And Babs had held herself together too good. A week ago she was still in and out of Jason’s apartment, protecting herself from the ghost of memories. And today, here she stood, as Batwoman and no longer Barbara. 

She had made it easy to forget, to pretend what he was doing wasn’t that wrong. 

Until now.

Jason hit the bar when it was later than midnight. He wasn’t a hero, he needed a fucking break. Lately, he felt like he had seen more shit than his whole life deserved, but as days passed days and months passed months, he kept getting surprised. 

Victor got a lion heart, but a donkey’s balls. He couldn’t even look at Jason’s goddamn gun without hurling his guts out. It was magic he had survived this long in Gotham. 

Tim had gone off the ground since the last day they met at his apartment, as if he and Steph were refugees of reality rather than taking a break. 

Jason’s fingers slowly went numb after the fifth shot, or sixth, or maybe tenth, honestly, he didn’t keep count. Probably the only reason why they kept serving was because he had been able to hold a straight face the whole time. 

The place he landed himself in tonight was just about alike any other bar in Gotham. If one thing Gotham ever did right was polishing nightlife for party players until perfection. So basically, any type of person could be found in a place like this.

Still, Jason’s attention fell to the fellows sitting on the other side of the counter. Suits, watches, going in a pair. Corporate workers.

Any type of person could be found in a place like this, but that didn’t mean no one could stand out.

These fellows surely did. If you dressed like you just freshly rolled out of a meeting from your Wayne Tower business office, you either expected attention, or got used to it.

They were young, attractive, well dressed and entirely separated themselves from the area around them, drowning in their own conversation. There was one guy on the left in a blue button up and black vest. He kept combing his hair back each time they felt down his face when he doubled down laughing, or when his hands gestured around in the air.

Dick would hardly ever use body language in talking. No one would have expected that from a motor chatter like him, but Jason had noticed. His ability in channeling words and conversation was magnificent to the point the receivers didn’t need a visible expression as an auxiliary explanation. 

And oh, how easy it was to fall to his talking. He talked a lot, he talked silly sometimes, but never too fast, never too comical. He embraced grace even in his graceless moments.

And just like these guys, attention was all he was. Dick would always wear a three piece suit to wear vests to formal occasions, just because he knew people loved the sight, how a vest hugged him. Black and blue, as he always believed, did him magic, even in daily life. But attention was the magic he said, he clearly wasn’t wrong. 

Dick may sport a six packs but his waist was tiny. Most people wouldn’t have noticed how lean he actually was if just watching him standing alone. Little people in the tight circle of high-society knew how well he looked in a black vest with fitting pants, hair half gelled and a sparkling glass in hand. 

And even littler people knew how well he looked sleeping, or how deep the curve of his waist sunken when he laid on the side, naked. 

Before Jason knew what he was doing, his feet had already delivered him to the other side of the counter. His whole ways, their eyes were on him.

Jason was no graceful bastard, of course they would have noticed him staring.

“Hey man.” Black vest greeted. He was uneasy from the little finger tapping down the counter surface, to the little smile stretched on his lips. 

Blond. What a shame.

Jason snorted, laughed, making himself a lunatic. He rubbed his nose with a finger, looking away. When he looked back, it was still that same face. Handsome, but a stranger.

“Fuck it.”

They frowned. Clearly, Jason wasn’t the most polite Gothamite on this planet.

“Hey, what the fuck was that for?” White shirt snapped, even with Black Vest’s hands holding him back. Clearly a hot head.

Well, that made two of them. 

Jason waited until he got close enough, and buthead him so hard, even Jason himself saw stars. 

White Shirt felt backward with a bloody nose. Black Vest jumped over, had Jason’s collar, fist on his hand to avenge his friend. 

This, was how Jason’s night rolled. 

* * *

**then**

Dick got down from the couch when Jason got in from the front door. It was his house, but he hardly ever walked in it like a normal owner. 

He didn’t make a comment. He didn’t have to. Jason already knew he looked like shit. 

“It was the whole bar against me.” Jason didn’t even know why he had had the need to explain. Guess he needed his dignity to be less bruised than his body.

“Sit down. I’ll go get the ice.”

He even knew where the ice was. 

“Leave it. They’ll be gone in a day.” Lazarus side-effect. Jason wasn’t even sure he was 100% human anymore. The glowing eyes minused his confidence down to about 80%.

“Jason, sit.”

Dick was rarely ever demanding when it was just them two, but for a moment there, Jason thought he had heard Batman.

And it didn’t fit, not even an ounce of his soft voice, because he didn’t even look demanding, he didn’t even look as if he was giving the order. 

The same gentle eyes. The same weightless shoulders. He eyed Jason as if concern was all his heart knew. And to concern, you must care. 

Why did he even care? Why did he still care? Why did he never ask? If he did, it would have been easier to hate him. 

Dick was never once a slow foot. While Jason was still busy indulging himself with questions, staring down at him, he dragged Jason to the couch, and pushed him down.

And Jason sat down, like a damn German Shepherd. 

Dick didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. 

Using the povidone soaked cotton Dick pressed against his chin as an excuse, Jason choked on their silence, his warmth, their thin distance.

The room blanked out, and all the world suddenly stopped at him. Only him. 

Like a child, the bruises that had been numb before, ached for his touch. 

* * *

**now**

Jason dropped the jacket down the floor when he saw who was on his couch. 

The lights weren’t even fucking on.

“How long have you been here?”

“Long enough.”

Jason snorted. He pick the jacket back up and threw it on the rag and before turning all the lights on.

“What happened?”

He got blood on his shirt. He should have known white was never his color. “You tell me.”

“Do you want me to patch them up?”

Jason huffed. “Leave it. They’ll be gone after a day.”

“Good. It cuts us the time.”

She threw down the floor and toward Jason a suit. Nightwing suit, and something heavier, silver. 

A gun. 

His gun.

Jason clicked his tongue, feeling like bursting out laughing. His night just kept getting better and better. 

“I gave you a chance. A chance, even in this situation.”

“So that was just a little act you pulled in the Cave.”

“It was a move, but it wasn’t acting, Jason. I didn’t act, not one second of it.” Babs pulled down her cowl. Jason knew he was damned the moment the lights flicked on and she appeared in her suit. “You think this is funny?”

Jason laughed, only to realize his lips stung. Some lucky guy did manage to throw a fist before Jason decked him unconscious.

“Well, a circus is supposed to be funny.”

Babs shot up from his couch, grabbed the suit on the floor and threw it at his face. And Jason let her. 

“I expected you to be cold. I expected you to act cold. I didn’t expect you to be this cruel!”

“Ain’t my fucking fault you fucking overestimated me.”

“He loved you!” Babs slapped him. She hit so hard, the room was filled with the sound of his pain. “He loved you. He cared about you. After all what you’ve done, to Bruce, to Tim, to Damian, he still saw something in you, stood for you, fought for you. And you just can’t fucking let him die in piece.”

“Because he’s not fucking dead!”

And their space was stuffed in silence. The echo of his voice splashed over the walls, painted over Babs’ face.

“He’s not dead.”

And he couldn’t stop. 

“He’s not fucking dead. He’s not… He can’t-” 

His throat betrayed him. He wanted to say more. Wanted vigor in his voice. Wanted Babs to stop looking at him like how she was looking at him now. 

“He’s not-”

But he couldn’t. 

He ended up swaying down on the floor, choking on his own voice.

It surged at an unexpected moment, a moment when he needed strength the most. The headache; the chest ache; the numbing. 

They barged, not in any particular order, but at the same time. And they sent him down. Down and down, and down. Until his knees hit the floor. Until his hands were on his hair, then on his chest. Until his choking turned sobbing. 

He hadn’t cried for years. For a life. So he didn’t expect it to hit at this time, to be this shattering. The sounds he was making, it was no longer human.

On hesitant steps, Babs got over, kneeled down by his curling form. 

Her touch was shy. Jason despised how she treated him like a wounded beast. But as his skin founded her warmth, shamefully, he trashed inside her embrace. 

“It’s okay.” She hushed. “It’s okay.” And again. 

And again, and again. To the point that it sounded like she was talking to herself.

“He’s dead.”

And Jason came back to his whimpering, sending Babs along the journey. 

He felt her tremble, and soon in his hug, he felt her tears against his shoulder.

Like a child, the bruises that had been numb before, ached.

**Author's Note:**

> ou can also find me at [here](http://moonfox281.tumblr.com/)


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